


Calling On Song [Archived]

by Parsnip



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-04
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 06:35:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 32
Words: 75,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3478076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parsnip/pseuds/Parsnip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She's spent the last ten years escorting caravans and singing in taverns for coin.  Wren Trevelyan might have made some questionable choices in the past - she is, after all, on the run from both the family that disowned her and the Order she abandoned - but she would not have thought that one wrong turn in a Chantry would wind up on the list.</p>
<p>Waking up in chains with her cover blown, the threat of execution hanging over her, and an electric pain in her left arm is possibly the worst morning-after-the-night-before she's ever experienced.</p>
<p>She has two skills, by her estimation.  She can stab things, and she can sing.  If she can't save the world with those, it won't be for lack of trying.</p>
<p>(A slowly diverging depiction of canon events.)</p>
<p>(Please note : this work has been rewritten and is currently being posted and completed <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533878">over here</a>.  Please head there for updates.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Or, Our Story Begins

The tavern was dark, even in mid-day.  A mage slipped in the front door and made his way over to the bar, casting anxious glances around at the patrons as he went. 

“Serah?  I was told to come here to find a caravan guard,” the mage said to the barkeep.  
  
The barkeep scowled.  “Try the corner table,” he said, pointing. “She might take you.  But any trouble out of you and you’ll be sorry.”

“Thank you, serah,” the mage said.  

He wound his way through the tables - blessedly empty this time of day - and over to the booth tucked into the corner.  
  
Lounging on the bench against the wall was a young woman.  Freckles were scattered over her rounded cheeks, making her look what the mage was certain must be deceptively young.  Her red-gold hair was cut around her face, barely touching her shoulders.  Deep, murky green eyes watched his approach, though she made no move to greet him.

She had one hand wrapped around an empty mug and the other resting lightly on a battered lute.

The mage stopped at her table and cleared his throat.  “I ask your pardon,” he said.

“Come for a song, serah?” she asked.  Her voice was lightly accented, and richer than he expected.

“No, my lady.  I was told to speak to you about a caravan guard,” he said.

“Ah, that is a different matter,” she said.  She leaned forward.  “Are you headed to the Conclave?”

“Yes.  I, and four others.  We can’t make it any further without assistance, my lady.  All of us are mages, but none of us have ever been outside the Circle before.  We… there were eight of us, before.”

Her face softened, though she masked it with a slight frown.  “I see.  Time is running short for travel.  Can you leave right away?

“We can.”

“You’re in luck, serah…?”

“Azi, my lady.”

“Serah Azi.  I have the time, and the urge to travel.”

“You, my lady?”

“Of course,” she said.  “Don’t be fooled, Serah Azi.  Allow that pleasure for your foes.  I’ve never lost a caravan yet.”

She uncoiled from the bench, moving with practiced grace.

“Call me Little Bird,” she said.  “Now then, let us go meet your companions, and discuss the matter of my payment.”


	2. Or, Names Are Given

“Who is she?” Cassandra asked, looking at the unconscious girl in the cell.

“The only papers she was carrying are only signed with a picture of a bird,” Leliana said.  “My scouts report that someone matching her description has been working as a singer, last known in Vintiver, but that does not explain her presence at the Conclave.”

“What of the mark?”

“I have never seen its like,” Solas said.  “It appears to be connected to the Breach.  I have done all I can, Seeker, but it may yet kill her before she wakes.”

“Unacceptable.  She must be questioned,” Cassandra said.

They all looked up at the sound of footsteps down the hall.

“Seeker!  More demons on the field.  Commander Cullen is going to the front,” a scout said.

“Thank you.  Dismissed,” Cassandra said.

The Seeker left the cell, slamming the door shut.  

Solas saw the girl on the floor flinch.

“Seeker,” he said.  “She may be coming around.”

“Have her tied,” Cassandra said.  “We take no chances.”

The guards tied the unconscious girl’s wrists together, and Solas watched her flicker slowly to life.

She was dragged out of the cell, surrounded by armed guards, and left to lay on the floor.

 

* * *

   
“Varric Tethras.  Rogue, storyteller, and sometimes, unwelcome tagalong,” the dwarf said.  He winked at the Seeker, who looked deeply irritated by the gesture.

Wren liked him immediately.

“It’s good to meet you, Varric.  I’m Wren,” she said.  “That is a _very_ fancy crossbow you have there.”

“That's Bianca.  She is special, isn't she?”

“Only the loveliest crossbow I have ever seen,” Wren said.

"Wren,” Cassandra said, musing.  “That is not a common name.”

“Not around here, anyway,” Wren said.  “I don’t use it much with strangers, but I’m making an exception, given the circumstances.  If I die, I’d rather have my true name sung than go to ash as ‘the prisoner’.”

“We’ll try not to let that happen,” Cassandra said.  “Seeing as you closed that rift.”

“It’s always nice to be of use,” Wren said.  
  


* * *

  
The pain from the mark was like sparks in her veins, an electric burn that she could feel at every moment.   _Like a magic burn, but inside me_ , she thought.

“Rifts connect to the Fade,” she said to Solas, thinking out loud.

“Yes,” he said.

“Then they’re also connected in some way to magic,” she said.

“That is a theory,” Solas said.  “Why do you ask?”

“Could the Templars subdue the rifts?”

“They have not yet been able to do so.  Perhaps we have too few of them,” Solas said.

She nodded.  

They approached another rift, and the fizzing in her veins bloomed into sharp pain.  The battle was a distraction, but the pain was enough to throw even that relief off.  Closing the rift felt like releasing a corset that was too tight.  The rush of relief was almost a high, but it faded quickly.  

 _If I don’t figure out a way to damp this back, closing these things could get to be an addiction,_ Wren thought.   _But if they’re connected to magic…_

She’d been given to the Templars as a child, and though she’d run away during her vigil, she still knew the basics of suppressing magic.  All Templars could do it, but without lyrium the power was weak.  Once a Templar started lyrium, the idea of trying anything without it died with their freedom.  

Wren had never taken lyrium.  She had those skills, learned in her last years of training.  They were weak, but perhaps just strong enough.

Wren focused on the fizzing in her veins, willing it to fade.   _Let chaos be undone.  Let chaos be undone.  Let chaos be undone._  She scrunched her eyes closed and followed the sound of the Seeker's footsteps in the snow.

Solas looked over at her.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she said, frowning in concentration.  

_Let chaos be-_

Wren slumped in relief as the pain faded back.  Now her only discomfort was the mark itself, and that she was willing to endure.

“Are you well?” Solas asked.

“Quite,” Wren said.

She opened her eyes and looked down the hill at the burning temple.

_This better not be the way I die._

 

 


	3. Or, A Templar Is Discovered

The first thing Wren did upon waking was assess the pain.  It was much improved - just a fizzle - so she let it rest.  No point in wasting effort to suppress what could be endured.

She flexed her arms.  No bindings.  No chains.  She was… was she in a cage?  Where was the trick?

Wren sat up and looked around.

“Oh!”

Her eyes locked on a tiny elven girl, cowering on the floor.

“I beg your forgiveness, and your blessing.  I am but a humble servant,” the elf said.

“My- what do you mean?” Wren asked.  “What's going on?”

“They say you saved us.  The Breach in the sky stopped growing, like the mark on your hand.”

Wren looked down at her hand.  

It was unsettling to watch.  It looked like the center of her palm had been replaced with glass, showing off flickering, brilliant green light beneath.

She ran the thumb of her opposite hand over the mark.  Still soft.  Still solid.  Still felt like skin.  

“Then… we’re safe?  And everyone is pleased?”

“That’s what they say, my lady.  I’m sure lady Cassandra would want to know you’ve awakened.  She said, ‘at once’.”

Wren looked up at the elf, who backed away immediately.  

“‘At once’, she said!” the elf cried before opened the door and fleeing the cabin.

Wren sat in bed and watched the light under her skin.

_Well, we didn't die.  That’s a start._

Leaving the cabin was… creepy.  The town was filled with armored men and women staring straight ahead at attention, blocking all her routes save the one to the Chantry.  The elf had said that nobody was angry with her, but Wren supposed that “not angry” didn't mean “not going to execute you”.

_Too late to sneak out a window and run.  Should have thought of that sooner._

 

* * *

 

Wren leaned against the wall and watched the man nailing a message to the Chantry door.

 _Templar_ , she thought.

Oh sure, he wasn’t wearing the armor, but he held himself like a Templar.  Moved like one.  Breathed like one.

He was pretty, though.   _Look at that biteable jaw._

Wren shook her head.   _Really, Little Bird.  You know better._

He walked quickly, slightly slumped, as if he were hoping to avoid attention.   _If that’s your goal, duckling, you should probably skip the fur mantle and giant red cloak thing_ , Wren thought.

He was clearly of high rank, though.  Knight-Captain?  Knight-Commander?  Regardless, he wore command as if it came with that fur mantle, and she watched recruits come up to him for attention and guidance.

Wren drifted back into the shadows as he passed.  

 _Pretty you may be, but best we don’t meet_ , she thought.   _That way lies madness, and possibly my long-overdue sanctions for abandoning the Order._

 

* * *

 

_And isn’t this just my bloody luck?_

Cassandra led her into the war room, and there she was, facing that Templar.  That Maker-damned pretty boy Templar.  Leliana was on his right, and a pretty Antivan lady was on his left.

_That damn Templar.  Who also, now that I’m seeing him from the front, has a very biteable neck.  That muscle right-_

Wren shook her head and focused on the Seeker.  

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces,” Cassandra said.

The name sounded just a little familiar, but Wren couldn’t be sure why.  That thought fled directly from her mind when she met his eyes across the table.

_Oh Maker this is not good._

She hoped she wasn’t staring, but sweet Andraste - gold hair, gold eyes, just a little bit scruffy, as if he’d been gotten out of bed too early.  That terribly biteable jaw, that lovely muscle in his neck, the way he just leaned with his hands on the pommel of his sword, casual with his command.  And he was _looking_ at her.  

 _It is almost certainly bad form to picture your commander naked._   _Shit, now I’m picturing him- STOP._  

Cullen looked down and exhaled.  “Such as they are,” he said, looking regretful.  “We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

He shook his head slightly.

Wren looked down.  She’d made the choice to take the mountain path, leaving the valley to - it must have been him.  Him, and his men.  Had that choice meant more lives lost than she’d saved in the mountains?  Maker, why had they even asked her to choose?  She hadn’t asked at the time, but maybe she should have.  

Cassandra gestured toward the pretty woman standing to the left of the Commander.

“This is lady Josephine Montilyet, our Ambassador and chief diplomat,” Cassandra said.

Josephine gave Wren a warm smile.  

“I’ve heard much,” she said.  “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“And of course you know Sister Leliana,” Cassandra said.  

“My position here involves a degree of-”

“She is our Spymaster.”

“Yes,” Leliana said, making a face.  “Tactfully put, Cassandra.”

Wren looked at them.   _And then there’s me.  How would Cassandra even introduce me?  “The one we wanted to execute before until it turns out she can do a really neat party trick?”_

“It’s a pleasure to meet you all,” Wren said.

“I mentioned that your mark needs more power to close the Breach for good,” Cassandra said.

“Which means we must approach the rebel mages for help,” Leliana said.

“And I still disagree,” the Commander said.  “The Templars could serve just as well.”

Cassandra sighed and scowled.  “We need power, Commander.  Enough magic poured into that mark-”

“Might destroy us all,” he said, scowling.  “Templars could suppress the Breach, weaken it so-”

“Pure speculation,” Leliana said.

“I was a Templar,” the Commander said.  “I know what they’re capable of.”

He didn’t say this like it was a good thing.  

Wren, however, focused on a word - was.  He _was_ a Templar.   _Then he wasn’t one now?  How long had he not been?  Not half as long as he was one, that much is plain._

“Unfortunately,” Josephine interjected, “neither group will even speak to us yet.”

She looked at Wren.  “The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition, and you,” she said, pointing to Wren with her quill, “specifically.”

Wren carefully kept herself from grinning.   _It was bound to happen someday, but who knew it’d be over this?_

“That didn’t take long,” Wren said.

“Shouldn’t they be busy arguing over who’s going to become Divine?” the Commander asked, gesturing toward the war table in vague irritation.

Josephine didn’t acknowledge him, but instead kept focused on Wren, who kept _her_ focus on maintaining the perfect calm exterior.

“Some are calling you ‘the Herald of Andraste’, and that frightens the Chantry,” Josephine said.  “The remaining Clerics have declared it blasphemy, and we heretics for harboring you.”

“Chancellor Roderick’s doing, no doubt,” Cassandra said in disgust.

“It limits our options,” Josephine said.  “Approaching the mages or the Templars for help is currently out of the question.”

Wren could not stop the incredulous look on her face, nor could she hope to contain the disbelief in her voice.  “Just how,” she asked, “am _I_ the Herald of Andraste?”

She caught the Commander slightly smirk at the question, and oh, Maker, the things she would do to make that happen again were entirely unholy.  _That smirk.  Focus, Wren._

“People saw what you did at the temple, how you stopped the Breach from growing.  They have also heard about the woman seen in the Rift when we first found you,” Cassandra said.  “They believe that was Andraste.”

“Even if we tried to stop that view from spreading-” Leliana said.

“Which we have not,” Cassandra said.

“The point is, everyone is talking about you,” Leliana finished.

Wren trained her face back to neutrality, but the look in her eye was still one of bone-deep skepticism.

The Commander looked at her and raised an eyebrow.  

“That’s quite the title, isn’t it?  How do you feel about that?” he asked.

His tone was somewhat amused, and Wren had to stop herself from grinning at him.   _Down, girl._

“I don’t know how I should feel about it,” she hedged carefully.

“The Chantry has decided that for you, it seems,” he said, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

_Quit being so damn attractive, you monster._

“The people are desperate for a sign of hope,” Leliana said.  “For some, you’re that sign.”

Josephine nodded.  “And to others,” she said, “a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.”

Wren paused.

“They’re not more concerned about the Breach?” she asked.

“They do know it’s a threat,” the Commander said.  “They just don’t think we can stop it.”

“The Chantry is telling everyone you’ll make it worse,” Josephine said.

 _It’s like they’ve met me!_ Wren thought.   _Maybe they’ve been talking to my family._

“There is something you can do,” Leliana said.  “A Chantry cleric by the name of Mother Giselle has asked to speak to you.  She is not far, and knows those involved far better than I.  Her assistance could be invaluable.”

“I’ll see what she has to say,” Wren said carefully.

“You will find Mother Giselle tending to the wounded in the Hinterlands, near Redcliffe,” Leliana said.

“Look for other opportunities to expand the Inquisition’s influence while you’re there,” the Commander said.  

Josephine nodded.  “We need agents to extend our reach beyond this valley, and you’re better suited than anyone to recruit them.”

“In the meantime, let’s think of other options,” Cassandra said.  “I won’t leave this all to the Herald.”

"That would be wise," Wren said, nodding sagely.

"What are you trying to say, Herald?" Cassandra asked.

Wren recoiled slightly at the name, but just shook her head.  "Only that not leaving everything to me sounds like the best thing I've heard since you told me you weren't going to have me executed."

Leliana smiled.

"If you want someone to lead you in a chorus of 'Roll Your Leg Over'," Wren said, "I would leave that to me.  Everything else, bring backup."

"Perhaps I should go with you to meet Mother Giselle," Cassandra said.

"Probably," Wren conceded.  


	4. Or, Certain Flirtations Have Been Noted

“Why can’t any of this happen in a nice, sensible town,” Varric grumbled.

“With a good bakery,” Wren said.  “That makes those sweet rolls, you know.  With the gold tops, and the spices on the inside.”

“I'd kill to find a decent tavern.”

“Don’t get me started on taverns.  I have many opinions about taverns.”

“You don’t look old enough to have been in a tavern.  What are you, twelve?”

“Varric, I am twenty seven years old.  I have been singing in taverns for ten years.  Trust me - I have opinions.  At least thirty of my opinions are about cider alone.”

"What kind of person has thirty opinions about cider?"

"Do you want to hear them?  I'll let you count."

"Give me five."

Wren held up her hand and counted off her answers on her fingers.

"One - cider should be proper apple-y.  Two - cider should be sold in a mug.  Three - cider should come with options.  Four - cider should be almost opaque.  Five - cider should be a balance between sweet, tart, and alcoholic enough to bite your face."

Varric nodded, shrugging a shoulder.

"That was five," he agreed.

"Leliana said that it was possible that you were a singer.  Are you a bard?” Cassandra asked.

“Strictly in the ‘plays music and sings’ sense.  Not at all in the court entertainer sense,” Wren said.  “Not that I don’t also stab people, of course, but that’s a separate job.”

“So, like Maryden, then,” Varric said.  “Apart from the stabbing.”

“Maker, no,” Wren said.  She shook her head.  “She sings much nicer songs than I do.  People hire Maryden when they want ambiance.  I’m employed in the business of selling drinks."

“And stabbing people.”

“Of course.  Hard to convince a caravan to cart you with it if all you can offer is a song,” Wren said.  “But I can have a bandit’s liver on the ground before he knows I spotted him.”

“Charming,” Cassandra said.

“I’m a delight,” Wren said.

 

* * *

 

Val Royeaux was exactly as unpleasant as Wren had suspected it would be.  There was a reason she’d spent the last ten years in Ferelden - Orlais was complicated.  

The Chantry sisters Mother Giselle had sent them to speak with turned out to be useless at best and openly condemning at worst.  The Templars had been led away from Val Royeaux.  A series of strange messages attached to handkerchiefs led them all over town, and into the path of a messenger inviting Wren to a party.

The best part of the day had been leaving, though even that had been punctuated by a visit from Grand Enchanter Fiona.  Wren had left the city feeling exhausted, despite only being there a few hours and having had to fight no one.

Days of travel led them back to Haven, and to the Chantry.

“It’s good you’ve returned,” Josephine said.  “We heard of your encounter.”

“You heard?” Cassandra asked.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead, of course,” Leliana said, walking quickly toward them with the Commander at her side.

The advisors lined up in a row in front of her, and Wren was painfully reminded of the times she’d been questioned by the Templars back in Ostwick.

_Why were you found off-grounds?_

_What is the meaning of these symbols?_

_Is there a reason you stabbed Donaldson in the hand?_

_Why is there blood all over your bed?_

_Why are you still asking?  You have been given your answer._

Everyone was looking at her expectantly.   _Shit, someone asked me a question._

“At least we know how to approach the mages and Templars now,” she said, hoping that was a relevant reply to whoever had spoken while she was stuck in the past.

“Do we?” Cassandra asked.  

Everyone started walking toward the war room, and Wren walked down the hall with them, half-listening to the conversation.  The Lord Seeker was odd, the Templar actions have been odd, this is all very suspicious, we should look into it, but wait what about the mages, the mages could be worse…

A fizzling through her bones set Wren’s teeth on edge.  Somewhere, something was happening with the rifts, or the Breach, or something… she wasn’t sure what caused the spikes, but every time it was a new kind of pain.  

_Let chaos be undone.  Let chaos be undone.  Let chaos be-_

They were all looking at her again to contribute her thoughts.  Distracting her.

“Or you could stop bickering and make a decision,” she said, her voice tight with what she hoped they’d assume was frustration.  The last thing she wanted was to have to hear this conversation again because they’d derailed it to talk about her bloody mark.

“I agree,” Cassandra said approvingly.  Attention was drawn away from Wren, and she closed her eyes for just a moment.   _Let chaos be undone._

_Finally._

She felt the release come over her, slowly, like snow melting down her back.  The conversation moved on without her, with her attention barely required.  At the end of it, though, she did notice that no conclusions had been drawn.  How long were they going to keep debating between mages and Templars?  At this rate, she'd have to choose, and that path could only lead to disaster.  

Cullen and Josephine left, with Cassandra not long behind.  Leliana waited, then walked up to Wren.

“There is another matter,” Leliana said.  “Are you back with us now?”

Wren looked up, a flash of guilt on her face.

Leliana smiled.

“Do not worry.  I do the same thing at times,” she said.  “But there is something else.  Several months ago, the Grey Wardens of Ferelden vanished.”

“I was friends with a Ferelden Warden,” Wren said.  “She disappeared before the Conclave.  I assumed it was the Calling, but it was so… sudden.  Strange.  She never mentioned the dreams before that.”

Leliana nodded.  “I sent word to those in Orlais, but I have heard nothing.  They have also disappeared.”

Wren frowned.  “That’s a bit much to chalk up to the Calling,” she said.

“Ordinarily I wouldn’t even consider the idea that they would be involved in all this, but the timing is… curious,” Leliana said.

“I don’t like it,” Wren said.  “This feels wrong.”

“The others have disregarded my suspicion, but I cannot ignore it.  Two days ago, my agents in the Hinterlands heard news of a Grey Warden by the name of Blackwall.  If you have the opportunity, please, seek him out.  Perhaps he can put my mind at ease.”

“I will,” Wren said.  “Sooner, rather than later.”

“Do you know much about the Wardens, Herald?”

“Not so much.  Very basic things.  They’re tied to the Blight, and that lets them kill darkspawn and archdemons.  Eventually they start hearing the Calling and go off to the Deep Roads to die in battle,” Wren said.  “Livia would talk about it when she’d had a bit too much wine.  She was afraid of the Calling coming for her before she was ready.”

Leliana nodded.  “The Wardens are a secretive order.  She must have trusted you to tell you even that much.”

“We travelled together for a while.  I think we were tied in the ‘who saved whose life’ tally before she disappeared,” Wren said.  “Four each, unless I’m forgetting something.  She was amazing with a sword.”

Wren smiled, then shook her head.

“I’ll go find this Blackwall,” Wren said.  “First thing.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen rubbed the bridge of his nose.  This headache was likely not the result of the usual cause.  He was fairly sure this headache was entirely due to the woman that had ridden out for the Hinterlands an hour ago, Varric and Solas in tow.

The Herald had come to see him before she’d left, and he’d gone on for some time about the Inquisition and the possibilities of it all.  She’d walked beside him and nodded, hands twined behind her back, dark eyes serious and solemn.  It had been far too easy to get carried away on the subject - it always was.  When he’d caught himself at it, he was almost embarrassed.

“Forgive me.  You didn’t come here for a lecture,” he’d said.

“No, but if you have one prepared, I’d love to hear it,” she’d said.  

There was a glint in her eye that he couldn’t place, and he’d chuckled.  “Perhaps another time,” he’d said.

Then she’d smiled at him, her eyelids lowered, and she’d winked.  His entire world tilted for a moment.   _Maker_ , she was flirting with him.  The surprise of it had him stumbling over his words and smiling like an idiot before he could smooth that reaction over into something less… ridiculous.

He hadn’t fooled her.  He hadn’t fooled himself.  The Commander of the forces, thrown off by a smile and a glance - like he was a teenager.

Admiring her over the war table had been harmless.  There was something about her - something sharp, something fine, like an expertly crafted blade.  But...

He noticed her.  Noticed how she moved - footprints in a single line, hips swaying as she went, always to a rhythm.  Noticed how she spoke.  Noticed how she touched things, trailing her deft fingers over the models on the war table.

He shook his head.  

This was… not good.


	5. Or, Friendships Begin

“There,” Wren said.  “If Giles is right, that has to be the Warden.”

“Let’s hope he knows something,” Varric said.

They walked up, and Wren listened to the gruff man instructing the three farm boys in front of him.  

“They will make this a fight, not us.  Remember how to carry your shields.  You’re not hiding, you’re holding.  Otherwise, they’re useless,” he said marching down the line.

Wren had flashbacks to the time she'd already wasted watching Cullen do much the same thing.   _This could take hours.  Best not to wait._

“Blackwall?  Warden Blackwall?” Wren asked.

He whirled and marched toward her, face set in a focused scowl.  “You’re not- how do you know my name?  Who sent-”

Wren heard a twig snap.  She and the Warden looked at each other, both at attention. A second later, the Warden threw his shield up and caught an arrow far too close to Wren's head for her comfort.  She pulled her daggers. They both nodded.

“That’s it,” he half-growled, “Help or get out.  We’re dealing with these idiots first.”

Wren looked at him and nodded, then darted around to find the archers.

“Conscripts, here they come!” the Warden shouted.

Wren shot into stealth, slipping around the men that rushed at the Warden.

“Hold the wall, men!  Make them come to me!” she heard the Warden yell.

“You’re dead, bastard!  Dead!” one of the bandits shouted.  

“I wasn’t here to fight!  Stop and think!” he yelled.

“Too late for that now!” the bandit yelled.

Wren leapt from the shadows and took down first one archer, then a second, quick as she could.  When the second archer fell, she watched Blackwall stand up from cutting down the last of the melee fighters.

He walked away, driving his sword into the ground and abandoning it as he went.

He crouched by the bodies and shook his head.

“Sorry bastards,” he grumbled.

He stood up and walked over to the farmers, nodding in approval.  “Good work conscripts.  Even if this shouldn’t have happened, they could’ve… well.  Thieves are made, not born.  Take back what they stole.  Go back to your families.  You’ve saved yourselves.”

Wren walked past the farmers, nodding at them as she did, then stopped in front of Blackwall.

"You’re no farmer,” he said.  “Why do you know my name?  Who are you?”

"Do only farmers know your name?  That's an odd system," Wren said.  “ _I_ know your name because I’m an agent of the Inquisition.  You are Warden Blackwall, I take it.”

“Yes,” he said.  “Why were you looking for me?”

“I’m investigating whether the disappearance of the Wardens has anything to do with the death of the Divine,” Wren said.  

“Maker’s balls,” he said.  “The Wardens and the Divine?  That can’t- no.  You’re asking, so you don’t really know.”  

“That is the point of asking, generally,” Wren said.  

Blackwall shook his head.  “First off,” he said, “I didn’t know they disappeared.  But we do that, right?  No more Blight, job done, Wardens are the first thing forgotten.”

Wren frowned slightly, but didn’t interrupt.

“But one thing I’ll tell you, no Warden killed the Divine.  Our purpose is not political,” he said firmly.  

“I’m not here to accuse,” Wren said.  “What I need is information.  You’re the only Warden we’ve managed to track down.  Where are the rest?”

Blackwall shrugged.  “I haven’t seen any Wardens for months.  I travel alone, recruiting.  Not much interest because the archdemon is a decade dead, and no need to conscript because there’s no Blight coming.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.

“Treaties give Wardens the right to take what we need, who we need.  These idiots forced this fight, so I ‘conscripted’ their victims.  They had to do what I said, so I told them to stand.  Next time, they won’t need me.”

He looked down, closed his eyes a moment.

“Grey Wardens can inspire, make you better than you think you are.”

Wren frowned.  She’d heard about the treaties before, and with Blackwall not knowing anyone had left, he certainly wouldn’t know where they’d gone.

“Why haven’t you gone missing with the rest of them?” Wren asked.

“Maybe I was going to,” he said, somewhat defiantly.  Wren resisted the urge to roll her eyes.   _What, are we children now?_

“If you were, where would you have gone?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“I- don’t know.  Perhaps to Weisshaupt, in the Anderfels.  The other Wardens might have gone there.   _I’ve_ received no word.  Perhaps a runner got lost,” he said.

_Maybe he’s a very unpopular Warden.  Seems odd, him alone all this time, with no word sent._

“Well,” Wren said.  “This hasn’t been quite as helpful as I’d hoped, but thank you all the same.”

She shrugged and walked past him, over toward Varric and Solas.

“Wait.  Inquisition - Agent, did you say?  Hold a moment,” Blackwall said, jogging after her.

Wren paused, then turned.

“The Divine is dead and the sky is torn.  Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved,” he said.

Wren nodded.

“If you’re trying to set things right, maybe you need a Warden.  Maybe you need me.”

There was something appealing about the notion - one of the legendary Grey Wardens, fighting alongside them.  It would make Josephine happy, certainly.  She loved anything that gave them more credibility in the eyes of the people.

“The Inquisition needs all the support it can get, but what can one Grey Warden do?” Wren asked.

“Save the fucking world, if pressed,” Blackwall said, his voice softening a bit with wry amusement.

Wren smiled at him, then nodded.   _This way, Leliana can question him, and I won’t have to go back and send for Cassandra before we go after the Templar encampment._

“Say no more,” she said.  “You’re in.  The Inquisition welcomes you, Warden Blackwall.  Get your things.”

 

* * *

 

The Herald returned from the Hinterlands none the worse for wear despite having cleared out the Templar encampment and having been beset by bears.  She gave the credit to their new ally.  

“He’s nearly as good as Cassandra at taking a hit and giving it back double,” Wren said admiringly over the war table.  “But I really brought him back for you, Leliana.”

“Thank you, Herald,” Leliana said.  “I will speak to him myself this evening.”

“I’m heading back to Orlais tomorrow,” Wren said.  “That should put me in the right place at the right time to investigate this red handkerchief message business.”

“You may wish to consider the party being given by Madame de Fer,” Josephine said.  “It is an honor to be invited, and attending would increase the Inquisition’s influence greatly.”

“Is that the same sort of time?” Wren asked.

“Two days after the your previous meeting, Herald.”

“I suppose I should, then,” Wren said.  “While I’m doing that, could we scout the Storm Coast?  When I get back from Orlais, I’d like to check out this mercenary company.”

“Of course,” Leliana said.  “I’ll send my scouts right away.  I have people looking into this Iron Bull and his Chargers as well.”

“I have a good feeling about the one that I spoke with,” Wren said.

She hummed half under her breath as she looked at the table.   Her humming was so deep at parts that it was just an inaudible rumble in her chest.

Wren reached across the table and picked up one of Josephine’s markers, then swapped it for the plain marker on the map that indicated a possible point of interest.  That point had been a debate the last time they’d been at the table - how to make money for the Inquisition.  Wren had listened to them all talk over each other in debate, then had just shaken her head and sent everyone off to other tasks.

“Right away, Herald,” Josephine said.  She smiled in clear anticipation.

“If three merchants aren’t crying into their hats when I get back, I’ll be very disappointed, Ambassador,” Wren said.  She winked at Josephine.

“I shall do my best, Herald,” Josephine said.

Wren looked at the table again, then shrugged.

“I’m doing to steal a doughnut from the kitchens,” she said, then turned to leave.

“Nothing for the forces to do?” Cullen asked.

Wren paused.

“Will _they_ steal doughnuts for me?” she asked.

“No,” Cullen said firmly.

“Then no,” Wren said.

She left the war room, and Cullen sighed.

“Don’t take it too hard, Commander.  She did ask you to assist those refugees last time,” Leliana said.

“I think my ideas are fine,” he grumbled.

“Of course they are, Commander,” Josephine said placatingly.

Cullen shook his head and left the war room.

Josephine and Leliana looked at each other and grinned.

 

* * *

 

Wren brought her purloined treat to the recruit camp, and sat on a crate to break it into pieces.  When the Commander walked over, she held out a piece to him.

“Ah- no, thank you Herald,” he said.

“Your loss,” she said, shrugging.  She broke off a smaller piece and popped it in her mouth.

Cullen tried to remember what he’d had to say, but all thought had fled the moment she distracted him.  This really was like being a teenager, and in all his least favorite ways. _I am the Commander of the forces, not a teenage farm boy.  I can talk to my colleagues without forgetting my own tongue._

 “Have you ever read ‘The Adventures of the Black Fox’?” Wren asked.

“I don’t know,” Cullen said, thrown off by the question.  “What is it about?”

“The Black Fox,” Wren said, as if this were obvious.  “Notorious rogue and scoundrel.  You know - Lord Remi Vascal.  Karolis, Servana, Bolek, Ser Clementis?”

“That sounds- no, I don’t suppose I did.  I’ve heard of him, but only just.”

Wren shook her head.

“That’s terrible,” she said.

She finished the doughnut and brushed her fingers off, then hopped up off the crate.

“Wait here,” she said.  “I’ll be right back.”

“Herald-”

Wren patted his arm as she walked around him and back toward the gates of Haven.

_That’s right - I was going to talk to her about the mage recruits._

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck and waited.   _I need to get more sleep.  Maker, she isn't even flirting with me and I'm still not thinking straight._ _  
_

“Here,” Wren said, walking up alongside him.  He turned to watch her walk in front of him, then hold out a book.  It had a worn leather cover with chipped gold lettering on the binding, and had been quite obviously read many times.

“Here,” she repeated, wiggling the book a little.  “Take it.  You need to do something with your brain other than fill it with battle formations.”

“Have you been talking to Varric?” Cullen grumbled.  

He took the book and turned it over in his hands.   _The Adventures of the Black Fox_ , he read along the spine.

“Don’t let anyone stab that, now,” Wren said.  “I’ll be quite put out.”

“Is this your book?” he asked.

“Sure,” Wren said.  “There might be one in the Chantry library, but it’s locked and I couldn’t be bothered to check.”

“I couldn’t take your copy, Herald,” Cullen objected.

“You just did,” Wren said.  “Besides, I trust you with it.  You’re a very responsible sort of person, responsible right down in your bones.  You’ll take better care of it than I have.  You can give it back when you're done.”

“I- thank you, Herald.”

“You’re welcome.  Take a break now and then.  It’s good for you.”

Wren turned to leave, and Cullen looked at the book for a moment before his brain kicked him.

“Herald-” he called after her.

She turned. and looked at him.

“There are mages that arrived last night from Elmridge.  They were hoping to speak to you - to ‘Little Bird’, that is.”

“Where are they?” Wren asked.

“They’re up by Adan’s cabin, in Haven.”

“Thank you, Commander.”

She smiled at him, and saluted before turning and heading back into Haven.

Cullen looked down at the book, then opened the cover.

In a careful childish hand, someone had written, "Property of Wren" on the top right corner of the end paper.

He closed it again and walked away to put it safely in his tent. 


	6. Or, Old Friends Return and New Friends Appear

“You glow.  You’re the Herald thingie,” she said.

“I glow?” Wren asked, faintly dismayed.

The girl gestured toward Wren’s hand, and Wren nodded.  “I suppose I do,” she conceded.

Wren considered the blonde elf.

“What’s this about?” Wren asked.

“No idea.  I don’t know this idiot from manners.  My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people.  Elves?”

“Ugh, no.  People people.  Name’s Sera.  This is cover, get ‘round it.  For the reinforcements,” Sera explained.  “Don’t worry, someone tipped me their equipment shed.  They’ve got no breeches!”

Wren ducked around the crates to drop into stealth, and the men rushed out from doors around the courtyard - indeed, wearing no breeches.

Wren darted around, trying not to break her stealth by laughing.

“Right in the plums!” Sera cackled gleefully.

When the men lay dead, Wren cleaned off her daggers and walked back over to Sera.

“Friends really came through with that tip.  No breeches!” Sera said with a gleeful laugh.

She leaned back and looked at Wren.

“So, Herald of Andraste.  You’re a strange one.  I’d like to join,” Sera said.

“Yes,” Wren said, immediately.

“Herald, are you quite sure-” Cassandra began.

“Yes,” Wren said again.  “But let’s introduce ourselves properly.”

She extended her hand to Sera, who shook it.

“I’m Wren,” Wren said.  “And you’re Sera?”

“Yes,” Sera said.  “Charmed, Herald-lady.”

“Who are your friends that you mentioned?”

“It’s like this.  I sent you a note to look for stuff hidden by my friends.  The Friends of Red Jenny.  That’s me, too.  Well, I’m one.  So’s a fence in Montfort, some woman in Kirkwall.  There were three in Starkhaven, brothers or something.”

Sera frowned.  

“It’s just a name, yeah?  It lets little people, ‘friends’, be part of something while they stick it to nobles they hate.  So here, in your face, I’m Sera.  The Friends of Red Jenny are sort of out there.  I used them to help you.  Plus arrows.”

“I get it,” Wren said.  “The name has power, so the friends have power.”

Sera nodded, pleased.

“Here’s how it is,” she said.  “You ‘important’ people are up here, shoving your cods around. ‘I’ll crush you’, ‘I’ll crush you’, ‘oooh, crush you’, and then you’ve got cloaks and spy-kings, like this tit.  Or was he one of the little knives, all serious with his little knife?”

Wren smirked.

“All those secrets, and what gave him up?  Some houseboy, who don’t know shite, but knows a bad person when he sees one,” Sera said.

“Eyes and ears on the ground,” Wren mused.

“If you don’t listen down here too, you risk your breeches.  Like those guards?  I stole their- look, you still gonna let me join, or what?  I want everything back to normal.”

“Are you kidding?  Of course.  Yes,” Wren said.  

“That was easy,” Sera said, sounding somewhat impressed.

“I’m an easy girl,” Wren said.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sera said, her voice all insinuation.

Wren winked.

Cassandra made a noise of disgust and shook her head.

 

* * *

 

Wren leaned back on the crate where she was perched, watching the Commander train the recruits.  She didn’t get involved in the training, but it interested her.  It was a motley crew - raw recruits, some veteran fighters, a few Templars - but somehow the Commander and a few lieutenants made them all come together.

It was impressive, even aside from the secret thrill she got from watching Cullen at work.

“Pardon me.  Are you- you are, aren’t you?  Wren Trevelyan?”

Wren looked at the recruit a moment.  A Templar, come to volunteer after the scene at Val Royeaux - it happened, on occasion.  

He took his helmet off, and Wren’s face lit up.

“Wolfson!” she said.  She’d grown up with him.  They had both been given to the Templars the same year, and were in the same classes.  They had been close friends all through training.  She had assumed that after she left the Order she would never see him again.

“I knew it was you!” Wolfson said.  “It’s good to see you, Trevelyan.  Did you come to join the Inquisition as well?”

“In a way, yes,” she said.  “I’m surprised to see you here, Wolfson.  How did that happen?”

“Something strange is going on out there,” Wolfson said with a frown.  “I was being transferred to a unit that was stationed in Val Royeaux, but the Lord Seeker pulled the Templars out of Orlais.  A friend, Ser Barris, advised me to not go to Therinfal with the rest.  He said I should come here instead, look for the Commander, and pledge my arm.  I trust Barris, so that’s what I did.”

“I’m glad to see you here, Wolfson.  I’ll feel better knowing the troops have you around to hit ‘em when they miss a left block.”

“You never were much use with a shield, Trevelyan.  So, what are you doing here?”

“Stabbing people, mostly,” Wren said.  “I was at the Conclave when it went up.  The Inquisition soldiers brought me to Haven, and I’ve been here since.”

“You’ve always been good at stabbing.  Poor Donaldson never ate in the dining hall again.”

“I warned him.  It was fair.”

Wolfson grinned.  “I don’t disagree.”

“Excuse me, Herald?”

Wren looked up at Lieutenant Harrison.  “Hmm?”

“Seeker Cassandra wants to speak with you.”

“Oh.  Of course,” Wren said, uncurling from her spot and jumping down.

Wolfson looked at her in surprise.

“See you around, Wolfson,” she said, patting his shoulder as she walked away.

“Herald?” he called out.

Wren turned around and bowed, then turned again and kept walking.

Wolfson rubbed his hand through his short hair and shook his head.

 

* * *

 

"...right under the table," Blackwall said.

Wren laughed, trying not to lose her balance atop the stone wall.  "Truly?"

"No word of a lie, my lady," he said, grinning at her.

Wren smiled.

“You’re oddly charming for a man I found wandering the forest,” Wren said, swinging her legs.

Blackwall grinned at her.

“I always thought myself more odd than charming, but I’ll take a compliment from a lady,” he said.  “They’re hard to come by these days.”

“Compliments?  Or ladies?” Wren asked.

He laughed.  “Both,” he said.  “So, is there something large and heavy you need moved?”

“I’ll think of something,” she said.  “and once I do, I’ll remind you that you offered.”

Blackwall leaned against the wall next to her and chuckled.  “You do that, my lady.”

“We’re headed out tomorrow to go to the Storm Coast.  I was thinking we could look for Warden camps.  Would you like to come along?”

“Yes.  I’m eager to see the history recovered, if it’s there.”

“I like volunteers,” Wren said.  She grinned.  “Thanks, Warden.”

“Just Blackwall will do, my lady.”

“Blackwall, then,” she said.  She saluted him with a thump on her chest, then hopped down and headed back into Haven to see who else she could convince to go with her.

 

* * *

 

“I like them,” Wren said.

“They have an excellent reputation,” Leliana said.

“The Iron Bull offered to kill things for me,” Wren said.  “I am highly in favor of this.”

“They are expensive,” Josephine said, “but not unreasonable.”

“Did I just make a non-controversial decision?” Wren asked.

All three women looked at Cullen.  He looked somewhat alarmed to be the focus of their attention.

“What?  I don’t have any objections, either.  They’re a good company,” he said, taking a half-step back.

Wren pressed her hands to her chest as if she were overcome.

 

* * *

 

“You might have mentioned that you’re the Herald,” Blackwall said.

“Pardon?” Wren asked.

“You just said you were an ‘agent of the Inquisition’ when we met,” he said.

“Huh.  I suppose I did,” she said, “but that’s true, isn’t it?”

“How’d you end up here?” Sera asked.

“Here like, in the Inquisition?” Wren asked.

“No, I know about the Andraste thing.  Why were you at the Conclave?”

“I was working as a guard for a group of mages,” Wren said.  “I escorted them to the temple.”

“Aren’t you a fancy rich noble?  I’d have thought you’d be inside with them,” Sera said.

“I’m a bit estranged from my family.  No, that’s too kind.  I was disowned,” Wren said.  “They already have the heir and the spare.  After I ran out on my duty, they wrote me off.  I’m sure Cassandra has seen Leliana’s report on me, she knows.”

“I… yes.  I did read the report,” Cassandra said.  “It is true.”

“I was meant to be a Templar,” Wren said.  “Can you imagine that?”

“But I heard you ask Cullen about Templar training,” Sera said.  “Why would you bother?”

“Two reasons.  Well, three, really,” Wren said.  “Maybe four.  Five?”

Wren held out her hand.  She ticked off her reasons on her fingers.

“One,” Wren said, “I knew he hadn’t read Leliana’s report on me yet, so I could get away with it.  Then, later on when he reads the report, it’s like a little joke I’ve hidden in his brain.  ‘Why did she ask me about this?  What’s going on?’”

Sera grinned.

“Two, I wanted to hear what he thought about Templar training.  I had the feeling that he was one of those people that thrived on it.”

“I agree,” Blackwall said.

“We’re both right, then,” Wren said.  “He was a starry-eyed volunteer, and a dedicated student.”

Cassandra nodded once.

“Three, asking him questions he can answer puts him at ease and helps us build a rapport.  If we’re going to work together, we have to be able to get along.”

“Are you taking lessons from the lady Ambassador?” Blackwall asked.

“She’d have much better reasons than these.  Where am I, four?  Four.  The longer you keep him talking, the more antsy he gets.  Starts shifting around, rubbing his neck, looking off at the sky.  It’s very funny, considering his position.”

Cassandra shook her head, but Wren saw a ghost of a smile on the Seeker’s face.

“Five,” Wren said, “there was a specific set of questions I wanted to get to before he read the report and I couldn’t get away with it anymore.”

“Questions?” Sera asked.  “Like what?”

“I wanted to ask him about Templar vows,” Wren said.

“Templars take vows?” Sera asked.

“So many,” Wren said.  “There’s a whole vigil, and then vows, and then they drug you up to keep you compliant.”

“Is that why you left?” Sera asked.

“One of the reasons, yeah.  A big reason.  Lyrium scares the crap out of me,” Wren said.

She frowned as she looked out over the valley.  It was quiet since they’d cleared out the rebel mages and the rogue Templars, but the bears had moved in and you could never tell when they’d show up.

“Anyway,” Wren said, “That was five, right?”

“Why did you want to ask him about vows?” Blackwall asked.

Wren gave him a wicked little grin.

“I wanted to ask him about certain specific vows,” she said.

“Oh?” Sera asked.  She leaned over closer in anticipation.

Wren painted her face with innocence.  

“Well, you know, I wanted to ask if Templars have to take vows of chastity,” Wren said.

Sera giggled.  “Do they?” she asked.

Wren laughed.  “Nope.  Some of the more devout ones do anyway, but most Templars don’t even think about it .”

“What did Cullen say when you asked?” Blackwall asked.

Wren rubbed the back of her neck and shifted her weight about.  She put on her best Cullen voice.

“‘It’s, um, not required’,” she said.

Sera started to giggle.  “I wonder if he did,” she said.  “He’s buttoned up enough.”

“Oh, I asked,” Wren said.

“You asked?” Cassandra said, then turned faintly pink at being caught up in the conversation.

“I did,” Wren said.  

They were close to camp now, and still no bears.  Wren put on her Cullen impression again, squaring her shoulders and changing her voice.

“‘Me?  I, um, er, no!  No, I’ve taken no such vows.’,” Wren said.  

She tried to convey the way he nearly turned himself inside out to avoid the line of questioning, and even Cassandra had to hide a smile behind her hand.

“Then he begged me to change the subject, so I let him run off and yell at recruits again,” Wren said with a wicked smile.

“You shouldn’t tease the Commander so,” Cassandra said.  “He is a good man.”

“That’s why it’s fun to tease him,” Wren said.  “Don’t worry, Cassandra.  He can take it.  He’s a big strong Templar, and I’m just a pub rat.”

“And the Herald of Andraste,” Cassandra reminded her.

“Once we close this Breach, I’ll just be a shameful addendum to the Trevelyan line again,” Wren said.  “Maybe Bull will let me join the Chargers.”

“You could probably be a Red Jenny, even if you are a noble,” Sera said.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me all day,” Wren said.  “You just say the word and I’ll start shoving frogs in Orlesian cabinets.”

“Ooooh, we could use that,” Sera said.

 


	7. Or, Awkward Observations Are Made

“Commander?”

Cullen closed the book quickly, guiltily, and looked up at the closed tent flap.

“Yes?” he asked.

“The Ambassador and Sister Nightingale are asking for you, ser.”

“I’ll be right there,” Cullen said.

He looked at the book, then scrambled for a bit of paper to mark his place.

The book itself was engrossing, he had to admit - a bit unbelievable, but somehow he found himself drawn into it more than he’d expected.  What was more surprising were the little bits of the Herald left in the pages.

Tiny flowers, pressed between sheets of waxed paper.  Little scraps of paper left as bookmarks, but always with bits of songs written on them, or covered in drawings of musical notes.  Tear stains.  In one chapter, fragments of dark rust-colored fingerprints.   _Who had she been when she’d read this?  Was it all from one reading, or was this a lifetime's collection?_

He pressed a note into the book and put it away safely again, then left the tent to go back to work.

 

* * *

 

“So.  Blackwall,” Wren said, kicking her feet up onto a nearby rock, “Do you want to have an awkward conversation now, or later?”

“Is there an option for not having awkward conversations?” he asked.

“No,” Wren said.

“In that case,” he said. “I’d rather have it now.”

“I like flirting with you,” Wren said.  “Can we keep doing that even after I tell you that you’re far too good for me and this can’t go anywhere?”

Blackwall laughed.  “Are you serious?  I'm not 'too good' for anyone, my lady.”

"That wasn't the point of debate here, Blackwall," Wren pointed out.

"I do like flirting with pretty ladies.  I don't mind if you don't mind," he said.

"Good," Wren said, smiling in satisfaction.   


“I’ve seen you flirt with Curly,” Varric said.  “Did he get this warning?  If he hasn’t yet, call me before you give it.  I want to watch that.”

“He is so far beyond ‘too good for me’ that I don’t feel the need to warn him.  I don’t even need to tell him it’s a bad idea.  He probably looks at me and sees ‘BAD IDEA’ written all over my face,” Wren said.

“What’s he seeing written on your ass, then?  Because he stares at that a lot,” Varric said.

“Probably ‘THIS IS A MISTAKE’.  More space there for letters,” Wren said.

Blackwall chuckled.

She poked the fire with a stick, then grinned.

“‘A lot’, huh?” she said.

“At least as often as you stare at his,” Varric said.

Wren laughed.

“Now I know you’re lying,” Wren said.  “His arse is not what I’m staring at most of the time.”

Sera cackled with laughter.

“What?” Wren said innocently.  “I was going to say his-”

“No!” Sera said.  “Don’t ruin it.  I want to believe.”

Wren grinned.  

 

* * *

 

“Would you like a sweet roll, Herald?  Varric mentioned that you like them,” Leliana said.

Wren’s eyes lit up and she held out both hands.  

“Yes, please,” she said.

Leliana smiled slightly and handed the largest one on the tray to the Herald.  Wren took it with both hands and held it up to her face.  She breathed in, then sighed.  

“So good,” she said, sinking into the chair.  

“Commander?” Leliana offered.  

“Ah- yes, thank you,” he said, taking one.  

“Josie?”

“Oh, I shouldn’t-”

“Oh no, Ambassador, you really should!” Wren said.  She tore her roll in half, then peeled a piece of the softest inside layers off.  She wafted it in Josephine’s direction.  “How can you resist?  They’re so lovely!”

She popped the piece in her mouth, and hummed in satisfaction.

“Well… perhaps one,” Josephine said.  She took the smallest one, then paused, and swapped it for a larger one.

Leliana sat down with the tray and set it on the table.  She took her own, but mostly watched the others.  The Herald seemed to eat most things with her fingers, tearing them to bits and then eating them with singular focus.  Josephine was delicate, nibbling carefully to avoid getting too much honey on her face and fingers.

Of greatest interest was watching the Commander try not to watch the Herald as she licked her fingers and hummed her way through devouring the treat.  He was trying, bless him, to not pay attention, but he couldn’t stop sneaking glances.

It was almost as delightful as the little wolfish grins the Herald gave him when she caught him at it.

Leliana smiled.  Very interesting.

 

* * *

 

Cullen set down the paperwork and rubbed his forehead.

“Trouble, Commander?” Leliana asked.

“No, I… er.  No,” he said.

Leliana looked down at the papers.

“The report on the Herald?” she said.  “Did you not read this before?”

“No.  I was busy,” Cullen said.

“Interesting reading,” Leliana said, picking up the report.  “Wren Elselein Marcelette Trevelyan.  Twenty seven years old.  Third and youngest child of Bann Trevelyan, given to the Templar order as a child of seven.  By all accounts, a good student and excellent fighter, until the night of her vigil when she disappeared from the Chantry.”

Cullen thought about her questions about the Templars and shook his head.  

“That’s as far as I got,” Cullen admitted.

“You’ve left out the best parts,” Leliana said.  “She turns up some months later working as a singer in a Ferelden pub.”

Leliana began to pace the room while reading.

“She moved around Ferelden frequently, largely as a caravan guard.  She sang in exchange for room and board.  After the Circles fell, she prioritized helping mages reach safety, often working for trade.  She was at the Conclave as an escort for a group of mages from Ferelden.”

Leliana set down the paper.

“She sought me out earlier,” he said.  “She asked me a lot of questions about Templar training.  Given that she knew all the answers already, I feel rather foolish having explained.”

“Very interesting!” Leliana said, a note of approval in her voice.

Cullen groaned.

“Don’t fret, Commander,” Leliana said, resting a hand on his shoulder.  “You told the truth, did you not?”

“I did, yes.”

“Then what she learned was that you are honest and trustworthy, which is what we want her to know about the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.”

“I suppose.”

She patted Cullen’s shoulder once, then left him to sit at the war table.

He picked up the report, flipped a few pages, then read.

“Ser Hanson Beckwith of Ostwick confirms that she was adequate, though not gifted at her warrior training.  He arranged for her to train as a rogue after an “incident” which exposed Wren’s natural abilities with daggers.  

With said daggers, she is quick and seems nearly fearless.  His only complaint was her lack of self-preservation in many instances.  

Ser Beckwith expressed regret that she fled the Order before joining.  It was by his command that her name was stripped from Templar records.  He refused to speak further on the matter.  

Officially, the Templars disavow any knowledge of Wren Trevelyan.  

She is an accomplished singer and mimic, able to replicate many voices whether speaking or singing.  This skill seems to have been instrumental in her flight from Ostwick into the depths of Ferelden.  She has been travelling throughout Ferelden for the ten years since her flight from Ostwick.”

Cullen set down the papers.

He could think of a dozen other things to append to the report.

_ Taller than you expect.  Red hair that looks golden in the sun.  Dark green eyes like the pond back home.  Soft accent, warm voice.   Last time we spoke I noticed she has freckles. _

_ She has this way of looking at me and smiling - it’s almost predatory.  When she does it, I want to call her bluff.  Come get me, then.  That impulse is unsettling.  It’s inappropriate for me to think about the Herald like this, or this much, and yet. _

_ And yet. _


	8. Or, An Ex-Templar is Irritated

Wren curled up on the crate to watch the training.  She’d be leaving the next morning to head to the Hinterlands - Grand Enchanter Fiona wanted to speak with her about the mages possibly assisting with the Breach, and she’d put off the meeting long enough.  Wren knew the Templars - knew them in her bones - and she knew they could help.  She was inclined to go to them, but she wanted to at least listen to Fiona first.

It wouldn’t make the Commander happy, but it had to be done.

Wolfson saw her and raised his shield in greeting.  Wren beamed at him and saluted.

He was doing well.  Fitting in.  Somehow, knowing he was with the troops was a relief and a stress.  How did the Commander do this?  How did he get to know the men and still manage to lead them into battle?

Wren shook her head.   _He’s good at his job_ , she thought.

_Come to think of it, where is he?  I haven’t seen him since the war table meeting._

She looked around.  No, she couldn’t spot him - Lieutenant Harrison was running the drills.  Huh.

“Should I ask if _you’ve_ taken any vows, Herald?” she heard from behind her.

Wren turned quickly.

Cullen leaned a hip against the crate and raised an eyebrow.

Wren looked at him, then started to giggle.   _He read the report._  She put her hands over her mouth as if that would stop it, but it didn’t help.  Everything else was so stressful that this, this felt like a gift, a ridiculous, beautiful gift.  She nearly toppled off the crate.

He waited for her to compose herself, and when she was upright again, she cleared her throat.  

“ _Are_ you asking, Commander?” she asked, eyes still dancing with mirth.

“Perhaps,” he said, and he smirked.

_Is he flirting with me?  He isn’t.  He can’t be.  Oh Maker._

Her smile bloomed, lopsided and honest.

“I take it you read the report on me,” Wren said, quickly trying to replace her dopey grin for a smoother one.  

He didn’t look fooled.  He looked quite pleased with himself, actually.

“I did,” he said.

“Leliana’s people are very good,” Wren said.  “There were things in there that even I didn’t know.”

“Oh?  What didn’t you know?” Cullen asked.

Wren looked out at the field, where the men were training.  She watched Wolfson talk to a recruit, tapping the man’s shoulder and demonstrating a swing.

“I didn’t know Beckwith had my name stripped from Templar records,” she said.  “Wish I’d known that years ago.”

She shook her head, then looked back at Cullen.

“At least it wasn’t troop reports,” she said, covering her tracks with a bright smile.  “Not that the details of my life are half as interesting as the Black Fox.”

She nudged Cullen gently with her elbow.

“I have been reading that as well,” he said.

“Really?”  Wren turned more fully to look at him.  “You have?”

“I have,” he confirmed.

“How far are you?” she asked.

“He’s been captured by a Tevinter magister,” Cullen said.

“That’s a good part!”  Wren beamed.  “I’m so pleased.  Do you like it?  If you’re just humoring me, I’ll take that, but I do hope you like it.”

“It has grown on me,” Cullen admitted.

Wren grabbed his arm.  “Wait until you get to - oh, I can’t tell you, you don’t know yet, but there’s a thing coming, and it’ll be amazing,” she said.

“Commander?”

Wren let go of Cullen’s arm and turned.

“Lieutenant,” Cullen said.

“I wonder if you have time to look over this block,” Harrison said.  “I’m not certain I see the problem.”

“Of course,” Cullen said.

“Play nice, boys,” Wren said.

Harrison saluted her, and she grinned at him.

The young man blushed.

 

* * *

 

Commander Cullen pulled one of the Templars aside during training and walked him a few feet away from the other men.

“Wolfson, isn’t it?” Cullen asked.

“Yes, ser,” the man said.  Cullen looked him over quickly.  Rivaini.  Dark hair, dark eyes.  Nose that had been broken at least once.  Mottled scars in a line down his forehead and right cheek - damage from a magical attack.

“You transferred from Ostwick, correct?” Cullen said.

“Yes, ser.”

“Did you know the Herald there?”

“Yes, Commander,” Wolfson said.  “We arrived the same week.  We served together for ten years in training.”

The man looked over to where the Herald often sat and watched the men as they trained - a spot that had been empty since she’d left two weeks before.

Wolfson shook his head.

“Wren was a good friend,” Wolfson said.  “I was looking forward to fighting beside her, Commander.  I’m glad to have the chance now, whatever form that takes.”

Cullen nodded.

“What was she like back then?  The Herald,” Cullen specified.

“In training, ser?  Terrible.  We started young enough that she had basic skills, but she wasn’t what you’d call gifted,” Wolfson admitted.  “Once they handed her training over to Ser Baron, things went better.  He trained her on daggers.”

“She seems to do well enough with them now,” Cullen said.

“Oh, with the daggers she was a natural.  Little beast, she was.  Fast as a whip and no qualms about sticking you if she could.  She’d use that mimic stuff to distract you, too.  Pretend to be Beckwith and call your name, and when you’d look she’d get you in the ribs.”

Wolfson looked affectionately nostalgic.

“Nobody can make you bleed like Little Bird,” he said.

They both looked up at the call from the road.

“Message from Redcliffe!  The Herald is returning immediately.  There’s a situation,” the scout said as he handed off the paper to the Commander.

“Dismissed, Wolfson, thank you,” Cullen said, scanning the paper.

Before Wolfson had even left, Cullen was already headed for the Chantry.  This was very bad.

 

* * *

 

All Cullen’s arguments and misgivings did not stop Wren from marching back to Redcliffe, Tevinter mage at her side, to drive Alexius from Ferelden.  The reports that came back were barely comprehensible.  Time magic.  An “Elder One”.  The murder of Empress Celene.  A demon army.  The King of Ferelden marching into the castle and driving the mages out - and into the arms of the Inquisition.

When the runners arrived at the Chantry to report that the party had returned, all three advisors were on edge.  Wren walked into the Chantry to find an argument already brewing.

“What were you thinking, turning mages loose with no oversight?  The Veil is torn open!” Cullen demanded when Wren drew close.

Wren’s voice was sharp.  “Really?  I hadn’t noticed.  So good of you to point that out.”

“There will be abominations among the mages!  They could do as much damage as the demons themselves!”

“Well, pardon me if I don’t piss my smallclothes over your mage panic, Commander.”

“My mage panic-!  This is not an idle fear, Herald!  You and I both know what mages are capable of!”

Wren opened her mouth, but Cassandra’s voice snapped out first.

“Enough.  The sole purpose of the Herald’s mission was to gain the help of the mages, and that has been accomplished,” Cassandra said.  “We weren’t there.  We should not second guess her.”

“The voice of pragmatism speaks!  And here I was just starting to enjoy the circular arguments,” Dorian said, leaning against a post.

Cassandra turned, then angled herself to include him in the conversation.

“I trust the Herald,” Cassandra said.

“I’m sorry I didn’t bring you,” Wren said, looking at Cassandra.  Her voice was hollow.  “But I’m glad I did not have to see you there.”

Wren looked around at the advisors and shook her head.  “We need the mages to help us, and if you ever thought I would bring them back in chains, you were always going to be disappointed.”

“We will deal with the situation,” Leliana said.  "It does not benefit the Inquisition as it could, but Cassandra is correct - we asked for help, and you brought it."

Wren looked at Leliana for a long moment. _It will never happen, she reminded herself.  We’ve already spoiled that future.  She won’t be tortured.  She won’t die for me, repeating the Chant, while demons throw Blackwall’s body aside-_

“Herald?” Leliana asked.

“Nothing.  Nothing.  I apologise,” Wren said.  Her hands were shaking, and she balled them into fists.  “Now that we have the forces, we should close the Breach.  The longer it’s open, the more damage it does.”

“Agreed,” Josephine said.

“We should look into the things you saw in this dark future,” Leliana said.  “The assassination of Empress Celene?  A demon army?”

“Sounds like something a Tevinter cult might do.  Orlais falls, the Imperium rises.  Chaos for everyone!” Dorian said.

“One battle at a time,” Cullen insisted.  “It’s going to take time to organize our troops and the mage recruits.  Let’s take this to the war room.”

He turned to Wren.

“Join us,” he said.  “None of this means anything without your mark, after all.”

“Right,” Wren said.  She looked down at her hand, the green glass mark sparking in rebellion of the suppressing she’d been doing since they’d drawn near to Redcliffe.  “The mark is what’s important.”

She shook her head.  

“I’ll come,” she said.

“Meet us there when you’re ready,” Josephine said gently.

“I’ll skip the war council, but I would like to see this Breach up close, if you don’t mind,” Dorian said.

“You’re staying?” Wren asked.  

“Oh, didn’t I mention?  The south is so charming and rustic.  I adore it to little pieces,” Dorian said.

Wren’s posture changed entirely as relief settled over her.  “I’m glad,” she said.  “There’s no one I’d rather be stranded in time with.”

“Excellent choice!  But let’s not get stranded again anytime soon, yes?” Dorian asked.  

Wren nodded.  

“Come,” he said, standing up and holding out an arm.  “Show me this terrible rift in the fabric of the universe.”

Wren walked over and took his arm.  If she held it a little too tightly, he didn’t mention it.  

“Of course,” she said.  “Allow me to give you the grand tour of our apocalypse.”


	9. Or, Reassurances are Made and Head Wounds Occur

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW : Blood, in the second section. It's safe before and after.

A jolt went through the stack of crates Cullen was using as a desk, and he grabbed for his cup before it could fall.  He looked up, scowling.

Wren.

His expression cleared.

She leaned casually against the crates, one elbow on the topmost one.  She looked over at him, her entire posture loose and relaxed.  It contrasted with the tension he could feel coming from her like a low hum.

“I need a favor,” Wren said.

“What is it?” Cullen asked.

“I need you to tell me, ‘Wren, of course we don’t just think of you as a mark with a human unfortunately attached to it.’.”

“What?  Herald, that’s- of course we don't,” Cullen said, taken aback.

Wren studied his face, and whatever she found there must have satisfied her.  “Thank you,” she said.  

When she turned to leave, Cullen reached out and touched her arm.

“Herald.  Why would you think that?” he asked.

Wren shook her head.  “It’s been in my head.  ‘None of this means anything without your mark’.”

“I said that,” Cullen said, remembering.

“Yes, but you’re just the latest to say something like it.  Don’t worry about it, Commander.”

Cullen stood straight and walked around the crates.

“ _Your_ mark, Herald.  Not _the_ mark.  I may not agree with the mage alliance - and you know I don’t like it - but someone had to make the choice.  You did that.  You recruited all these people,” he said, waving a hand out toward Haven.  “You’re the one watching training, helping the troops, talking to mages, bringing aid to refugees.  That’s _you_ , not that mark.”

Wren pulled off the glove on her left hand, then held out her hand, palm up.  It shone between them, flickering.

The mark was brilliant, like an aurora held within her hand.  The light was never still, moving in waves along her palm.

“Does it hurt?” he asked.

“Sometimes,” she said.  “It changes.  If there’s a rift nearby it’s stronger.  It was terrible at Redcliffe, not because of rifts, but something… I don’t know.  When there’s a lot of magic it sometimes sparks up.”

She closed her eyes a moment, and he saw the light flare.  She opened her eyes again.

“Right now it’s pretty unpleasant,” she said, her voice tight.  “Like I’ve taken a bolt to the chest and it’s gotten into my bones.  Sometimes it’s more like burning.  Sometimes it’s like I’m freezing from the inside.  I don’t know why it changes.  Maybe it’s what I’m near, or something about the Fade on the other side of the rift.”

“Did something happen?” Cullen asked.  “The mark flared.”

“Yes.  I stopped blocking it,” Wren said.

Cullen looked closer at her.

“You’re blocking it?  How?”

“I trained as a Templar for ten years, Commander,” Wren reminded him.  “They teach you to block magic before you start taking lyrium.  Most templars forget that, for some reason.  The skills are paltry before the lyrium.  It’s good enough for this, though.”

“Does blocking it keep you from being able to close rifts?”

“No.  I don’t block the mark, just the effects.  It’s an important distinction.  There’s too much magic in the mark.  Even if I took lyrium, I doubt I’d be strong enough.  It’s the limits of my ability just to block the effects on the rest of me,” Wren said.  

“Why did you stop blocking it just now?” Cullen looked at her.  There was tension in her face, pulling her mouth to a thinner line.

“I wanted to be able to answer your question honestly,” Wren said.  “And sometimes it’s good to check up on it.  See how bad it is.”

Cullen heard the banked pain behind her voice and it troubled him.  

“Can you block it again?” he asked.

Wren looked down at the mark, thinking, then nodded.  “I should be able to, yes.  I just need to focus.”

“How do you- I don’t mean to pry,” Cullen said.  “I do know how to block magic, but-”

“I think about what I want to stop, the very specific thing.  Right now, it’s the way my bones feel.  I focus on that, and try to… push it back,” Wren said.  “I’m shoving it away, so it can’t touch me.  Then I repeat something in my head, over and over, until it works or I run out of energy to try.  It’s not quite the way we’re taught, but I had to modify the methods to make it work on me.”

“Do you say the same thing every time?” he asked.

Wren looked askance, then admitted, “The last line of the Canticle of Victoria, 1:3.”

Cullen ran the numbers in his head, then said, “Let chaos be undone?”

“You really were a good Chantry boy,” Wren said, smiling at him with a shake of her head.

Cullen cleared his throat awkwardly.  “I studied a lot,” he said.

Wren chanted the canticle.  It came out almost as a song.  

“Now her hand is raised - a sword to pierce the sun.  With iron shield she defends the faithful - let chaos be undone.”

He watched her lips repeat the words, “Let chaos be undone”, over and over without speaking them.

Cullen saw the light in her hand calm, looking more like the reflection of the Breach on the frozen pond in front of Haven.

Her shoulders relaxed.

“See, not that interesting,” Wren said.

“I disagree,” he said.  “I wouldn’t have thought… thank you, Herald,” Cullen said, half lost in thought.   _If that was possible..._

She tilted her head.

“You’re welcome,” she said.  Wren put her glove back on.

“Herald.”

Cullen reached out and put his hand on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry that I made you doubt your place here,” he said.  “We could never have done this without you, mark or no.”

“Thank you, Commander,” she said.

 

* * *

 

The arrival of the mages, the full alliance that had been offered - these things were not, strictly speaking, popular choices among the populace or the advisors.  Leliana was pleased with the mages but not the full alliance.  Cullen was displeased with all of it.  Josephine tactfully kept her opinions on the matter quiet.

The inner circle told Wren their thoughts, but only after she’d opened the door to the topic.

Then there was Wolfson.

“The mages, Trevelyan?  Really?” Wolfson asked.  He shifted his shield to defend as she came in sideways with her daggers.  

“You want to talk about this now, Wolfson?  Really?” Wren echoed.  “In the middle of training?”

He swung and she spun, ducking away and darting back toward him.

“Yes.  I could-” he blocked “just gossip like the other hens, but I’d rather ask you myself.”

His sword came down, and she caught it between her crossed daggers.  She shoved him back, then circled.

“What do you want to know?” she asked.

“Why the mages?  Why not-” he swung,  “why not us, Trevelyan?”

Wren slid away and darted close, punching him in the ribs to let him know he’d be dead if this was real.  She spun away and held up her daggers again, signalling Wolfson to keep fighting.

“I was a Templar,” Wren said as they circled.  “I know what they’re capable of.”  Cullen’s words, but they spilled from her lips without a thought.

She darted, and Wolfson retreated.  They continued the dance.

“Are you telling me,” she said, “that your men need me to show up-”

He swung and she blocked, barely in time.

“-to Therinfal and beg-”

She came around, and he blocked.

“-for their attention-”

He lunged, and she dropped and rolled. 

“-more than we needed to get Tevinter off our doorstep?”

“You brought a Tevinter back with you!” Wolfson said.

Wren’s eyes narrowed.

“We are not going to talk about Dorian,” Wren said.  Her voice was a growl, and Wolfson fell back.

“Sore spot, Trevelyan?”

“Did you not hear me?” she asked.  Her daggers flashed out, and she caught the edge of his shield as he barely pulled it up in time to duck away.

She might not have pulled the hit, and they both knew it.

“You knew something was-” Wolfson shoved her back with the shield.

“-going on with the Templars-”  He lunged to the side.

“-but you didn’t look into it-”  Wren dodged a swing and snarled.

“-and now they’ve disappeared,” he said, jabbing out at her.

“I can only be in one place at a time,” Wren said.  She rolled and snapped out at his legs, forcing him to back away quickly.

“I would have gone to them,” she said, rising back up.  “If there’d been time.”

“But mages…” Wolfson shook his head, and stalked around her.

They breathed hard, circling around each other.

“A full alliance,” Wolfson said.  “Why?”

“We aren’t a Circle,” Wren said.

“But unchecked-”

“Did I say unchecked?  You’re here.  The Commander is here,” Wren said.  “Lysette-” she swung.  “Half a dozen new Templar recruits in the last two weeks-”  he blocked and came at her again.  “There’s more of you trickling into camp all the time.  What else do you want?” she asked, her voice rising.  “Do you need me to _hold your fucking hand_ , Wolfson?”

She rolled and came up close.  Her blade sliced across his ribs, leaving a deep groove that screamed across the metal of his armor.  He turned and clipped her with the corner of his shield - she was too close, not watching.  He tried to pull up, but couldn't stop in time.  He caught her on the temple, and she was thrown to the side.  She dropped to the ground, swearing.

Wolfson dropped his sword and shield, then pulled off his helmet.

“Maker’s balls, Trevelyan,” he said.  

Blood slid down the side of her face.  She reached up and touched it, then looked at her fingers and cursed again.

She wiped her fingers off in the snow, leaving red smears behind.

Wolfson sat next to her and handed her a healing potion.  She pulled the cork out with her cold fingers and tossed it aside, then pulled a sip from the bottle.

She could feel the ache in her head ease, so she drank more.

“Sorry, Trevelyan,” Wolfson said.  “You don’t owe me answers.”

“I don’t,” she said, “but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve them.”

She took another drink from the healing potion.  The wound on her head closed, stopping the flow of blood that stained her face and collected along her jaw.

“Free mages scare the shit out of me,” Wolfson admitted.

Wren finished the bottle and set it in the snow next to her bloody finger marks.

“Can I tell you something, just between you and I?” Wren asked.  “Wren to Thomas.  Just a couple messed up Templar kids, stealing treats and building forts in the store rooms.”

Wolfson’s face softened with the memory.  “Sure,” he said.

“I spent a lot of time escorting mages around Ferelden.  The scariest part was never the mages.  Since they’ve been free, if you believe what we’re taught, we should be overrun with possessed mages - we aren’t.”

Wren itched her face, then remembered the blood.  She looked down at her hand and wrinkled her nose in irritation, then wiped blood onto the snow again.

“We need mages to be dangerous, so that the things we’ve done to them are right and necessary.  If mages aren’t the barely contained monsters that we’ve been taught, then we are,” she said.  

She looked over at him, and he winced at the sight of her, blood-covered and bruising.  He fished out a handkerchief and handed it to her.

“I was never going to bring anyone to us in chains.  If that was what people wanted, they should have sent someone else,” Wren said.  She grabbed a handful of snow in the kerchief and held it to melt it.

Wolfson sighed.  "I wasn't surprised when I heard," he admitted.  "I just don't- hell, Trevelyan."

"Yeah.  That seems to be the general opinion," Wren said.

Wolfson nodded.

There was an awkward pause.

“The Commander asked me about you,” Wolfson said.

“He did?  Why?” Wren asked.  She shook away the remaining snow and started wiping away the blood on her face.

“I don’t know.  If he had a point, he never- oh, for pity’s sake, Trevelyan, you’re just making a mess,” Wolfson said.  “Give it here.”

He reached over and took the cloth from her.  He mimicked her earlier impulse to wet the cloth with snow, then held her face still with his left hand while he rubbed the cloth in purposeful strokes with his right.

“Ssss- it’s cold,” Wren protested.

“Of course it is.  It’s cold everywhere here.  Why couldn’t you have run away to Antiva, or Rivain?”

“I was young.  I had a crush on King Alistair.  I make bad choices,” Wren said.

“You had a- seriously?”

“Yeah.  I don’t know, I’ve always liked the guy.  He and Warden Cousland.  I felt like with them on the throne, Ferelden would be a safe place.  A land of cheese and puppies.”

“And now you’ve met them.”

“Yes- ow!  Him, anyway.  It could have gone better.  He wasn’t best pleased with us.  My teenage daydreams never went quite that way.”

“I probably don’t want to know the way your dreams went.”

“You’re too young to hear that sort of thing.”

“Trevelyan, I am older than you are.”

“Pssh, by a year, but not in the ways that count for this story.”

“In the ways that count, I’m still older than you are.”

Wolfson paused.

“Why am I arguing this point?   _I don’t want you to tell me_ ,” he said, folding the cloth and wiping down her jaw.

“I was never going to tell you,” Wren said.  “Don’t worry.”

“I think that’s as good as we’ll get without a basin,” Wolfson said.  “The Commander is less likely to kill me now, anyway.”

“Is he back from the Chantry?” Wren asked.

“He’s walking back now.  Just spotted him by the gates.”

She climbed to her feet and held her hand out for Wolfson.

Wolfson grabbed her hand and let her pull him up.

“Maybe next time you could wear a helmet,” he suggested.

“Yeah, maybe.”

Wren grabbed the empty bottle and followed Wolfson to the tavern.

 

* * *

 

 “Commander, I know you want to be by the men, but if you stay in the Chantry with the rest of us, we can use that tent to house the latest recruits,” Josephine wheedled.  “We are out of tents, and out of room.”

“I shouldn’t have better accommodations than the troops,” Cullen objected.

“If that’s the problem,” Cassandra said, “then we’ll make you sleep on the floor instead of finding a bed.”

“And you _should_ have better accommodations than the troops.  You’re the Commander,” Leliana said impatiently.

Cullen sighed.

“Just give in, Commander,” Leliana advised.  “Pack your things.”

He grumbled, but that night he slept on a cot in the bedroom Leliana, Josephine, and Cassandra shared.  He tried not to find it awkward, and mostly failed.  He wound up spending most of the night finishing “The Adventures of the Black Fox”.  He found three more notes inside from the Herald - two with snippets of songs, and one covered in pictures of tiny birds.

They were rather terribly drawn.

Was she young when she drew them?  He remembered the note they'd found on her body back at the start - the little messages, all signed with tiny bird drawings. Had these been where that had started?

Someday, when there was time, he would ask her. 

He put the book safely in his pack and tried to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Wren was tired.  No, more than that - exhausted.  

She hadn’t slept much since returning to Haven.  The tiny cat naps she managed every night were doing nothing but keeping her on her feet, and even that felt like a hard won victory.  

She had things to do in the Hinterlands.  She had things to do at the Storm Coast.  She had things to find in the Fallow Mire.

She had to close the Breach.

All she wanted to do was sleep.

Instead, as midnight passed, Wren sat on the dock over the frozen lake and stared at the sky.

“Herald?”

Wren turned.

At the other end of the dock, she saw a large figure.  Her tired brain took far too long to pin the shape on Cullen.

“Is there a problem, Commander?” Wren asked.

“No,” Cullen said.  “Not at all.  What are you doing out here so late?”

“I like the quiet,” Wren lied, turning away to face the ice.

“May I join you?” Cullen asked.

Wren looked back at him again.  

“Sure,” she finally said.

The dock shook as he walked down it toward her.  She turned away again as he drew close, then sat down next to her.

They sat quietly there for a bit, and Wren surreptitiously looked at him.

He wasn’t wearing his plate, but he still had that fur trimmed cloak...vest...thing, over pants and a shirt and boots.  He looked younger without the armor.

Handsome.

Wren shook her head. _No.  Don’t think about it._  She had been doing so well not thinking about him.  Not looking at him.  Why, right now, she wasn’t noticing anything about him at all.  Not about the way his hair was starting to curl just a bit out of control.  Not about the little freckles on his cheeks and temples.  

Wren closed her eyes.   _Get your shit together, Trevelyan._

“You aren’t sleeping lately either, are you?”

Wren’s eyes snapped open.

“Either?” she asked.

Cullen leaned back on his hands.

“Cassandra says I work too much,” Cullen admitted.  “Maybe I do.”

“It seems likely,” Wren said.  “I never see you not working.  Don’t you ever have a drink with your men?  Chat up a Chantry sister?”

Cullen chuckled.  “Maker, no.”

“Never?”

“I never chat up Chantry sisters, anyway.  I have been known to have a drink on occasion.”

Wren smiled.  She closed her eyes again.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Cullen asked.

“Your guess is as good as mine.  I’m currently assuming it’s stress.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

A thousand thoughts filled Wren’s head, none of them appropriate, and most involving nudity.

“No,” she said.  “It’s just my head.  I’m stuck with it, until someone shows up and cuts it off.”

“I would rather that didn’t happen,” Cullen said.

“To be honest,” she said, “it’s not my first choice, either.”

There was a pause, and Wren laid back on the dock.  It was cold, but she was beyond caring.

“A group of Templars joined us today,” Cullen said.  “Ser Barris and several veterans.  They had some disturbing tales about events at Therinfal.”

Wren sighed.

“At least they’ll be safe here,” she said.  “I didn’t want to be a Templar, but I would have… it doesn’t matter.”

Wren opened her eyes to find Cullen turned sideways, looking down at her.   _His eyes are so pretty,_ she thought, _like a flame through a green glass lantern._  

“Herald?”

“Sorry,” she said, closing her eyes again.  “Staring off into space again.”

Wren brought her arms up and folded them over her eyes, leaving just her mouth exposed to the cold air. _If you can’t look at him, you can’t stare.  If you don’t stare, you won’t be able to make an arse of yourself._

“Why did you leave before your vigil?”

Cold sluiced through her body, as surely as if she'd ducked under the ice of the pond.

 _Promise me, little bird._  

“I can’t, I- I’d rather not talk about it,” Wren said.

She could feel him watching her.

“All right,” he said.

Wren sighed out a breath in relief.

“You say that a lot,” she said, “at the war table.  I tell you to do something, and you always agree.”

“I suppose I do.”

“I’ll try not to take advantage of you,” she said.

Though she’d tried not to make it sound like innuendo, the moment it was out of her mouth it seemed to take on a life of its own.  

Cullen chuckled, and it was a rumbly sound that made Wren shiver.

“You couldn’t,” he said.

There was a heavy pause, and then Wren cleared her throat.

“We’ll have to close the Breach soon,” she said.  “I’m thinking day after tomorrow.”

“That soon?”

“It feels late.  I ought to have moved on it sooner.”

“Herald, if there’s anything-”

“There _is_ something you could do,” she said.

“What is it?”

“When we’re just hanging out in the snow like idiots, you could drop the Herald business and just call me by my name,” she said.

She unwrapped her arms from around her head and looked over at him.

“I’m a lousy Herald, but I’m very good at being Wren,” she said.

“You’re not a lousy Herald,” Cullen said, “but I’ll use your name if you prefer.”

“Thanks, Commander.”

“Cullen.”

“Cullen.”

It felt good, saying his name.  She said it low, like it was a secret she was keeping for him.

“Thanks for coming out to check on me,” she said.  “You should probably get to bed, though.  I have it on good authority that in the morning there’s going to be a war table meeting and we’re going to have to plan the attack on the Breach.”

“Of course.  Don’t stay up too late, Herald.”

Cullen stood up and bowed slightly before he left.

Wren closed her eyes.


	10. Or, Everything Goes to Hell

It felt like the world was collapsing around her, and everything she tried to stop it only made things fall faster.  Wren’s lungs burned as she ran toward Haven’s gates.

“Herald!”

Wren stopped and turned sharply.  “Harritt!”

“Help me!” Harritt yelled.  

The smithy was burning, and crates had toppled in front of the door.  Harritt was trying to move them, but they were full of supplies - heavy, even for the smith.

“Blackwall!  I’m calling in the favor!” Wren yelled over her shoulder.  “Help me move this!”

She and Blackwall ran over and shoved the crate, toppling it out of the way.  Wren wrenched the door open.

“Thank you Herald!” Harritt said, racing inside the burning building.

“Don’t die, Harritt!” Wren demanded.  She waited, holding the door open until the smith reappeared.

Harritt raced out again, a sack in his arms.  

“Get to the gates, hurry!” Wren demanded.  She grabbed potions as she passed a supply crate, then barrelled inside.

 

* * *

 

“There are no tactics to make this survivable,” Cullen said.  “The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche.  We could turn the remaining trebuchets, cause one last slide.”

“We’re overrun.  To hit them, we’d bury Haven,” Wren said, a sick sense of futility washing over her.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how.  Many don’t get that choice,” Cullen said.

Memories.  A darkening cabin.  A broken voice.   _Please.  While I still know you.  While I’m still me.  Before I lose the light._

“I understand,” she said.

Despair settled in her belly.  This was it.  This was how it ended.  

“Wait.  Chancellor Roderick can help.  He wants to say it before he dies,” Cole said.

Wren turned to the strange young man and waited.

“There is a path.  You wouldn’t know it unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have.  The people can escape.  She must have shown me.  Andraste must have shown me, so I could tell you,” Roderick wheezed.

Roderick stood and leaned toward her.  Wren stepped forward and put her hand on his shoulder, looking into his pale face.  She could feel his body shudder.

She turned her head and looked at the Commander.

“Cullen,” she said.  “Can you get them out?”

“Possibly,” he said.  “If he shows us the path.  But what of your escape?”

Wren looked at Roderick, squeezed his shoulder gently, then looked toward the Chantry door.

“Wren.”

She looked back at Cullen.  Maker, he said her name like it hurt.  How many times had she wanted to hear him say it?   _Never like this.  Never like goodbye._

“Perhaps you will surprise it, find a way-”

She looked at him.  She memorized his face - his eyes, the line of his nose, the angle of his jaw, the scar on his lip, the width of his chin.  She burned them into her mind, willing herself to remember.   _Remember.  You had friends.  People that knew your name.  You mattered.  You had something worth the fight, before the end._

She nodded once.

He nodded back, then turned to the soldiers in the hall.

“Inquisition!  Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry!  Move!” he ordered.  

“Herald,” Roderick said as Wren stepped away, “if you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this - I pray for you.”

“Bless you,” Wren said.

Some few men ran out the Chantry doors, and Cullen returned.

“They’ll load the trebuchets.  Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line,” he said.

Wren nodded, then turned and walked toward the door.

“If we are to have a chance - if you are to have a chance - let that thing hear you,” Cullen said.

She stopped, her hand on the door.

“I will,” she said.

She pushed the doors open, and disappeared into the hellscape beyond.

 

* * *

 

Wren closed her eyes against the stinging snow and forced her frozen body to keep moving.  The crunch of the snow sounded so loud, despite the howling wind around her.  Every cold fire pit she found was evidence that the others had made it, that they were just ahead.  She could move faster alone than a large group could together, she had to believe that.  If she kept going, she’d catch them.  

Another step.  Another.  Her feet were so heavy, but she couldn’t stop.  Hadn’t she done years of training?  Hadn’t she worked until she’d dropped, day after day?  This was no worse, Wren told herself.

Crunch.  Crunch.  Ahead, another fire circle.  

She trudged a few more steps and stopped.  She reached out toward the abandoned fire pit.

Warm.  It was warm.  She buried her gloved hands in the ashes, the heat stinging and hurting but the feeling so much better than the nothing from before that she stayed in place until she knew she was in danger of forgetting how to walk.  She grabbed fat handfuls of the warm ashes and carried them as she moved on.

There - a chokepoint in the rocks.  Surely just beyond she’d be able to see someone, something.

The ashes cooled in her hands and she let them slip from her grasp as she forced her legs to keep moving.

Was that the sound of voices?  Cassandra - was that the Seeker?  

Wren tried to hurry, and stumbled.  She didn’t have the energy to cry out as she fell to her knees.

“There!” she heard a voice yell.  Cullen?

“Thank the Maker!”

Cassandra.  Cassandra, it was her.

The sound of footsteps on snow seemed deafening, and Wren stayed in place until the armored legs appeared before her.  She tipped her head up.

“Cullen,” she said.  She hadn’t been hearing things.  It was Cullen, standing there with his fur collar covered in snow.

He dropped down in front of her.  She looked at him barely able to believe this wasn't some dream before death.

Cassandra appeared at Cullen’s side a moment later.

“Herald!” Cassandra said.  

Wren couldn’t stop looking at Cullen.  She’d seen his face, like she hoped she would, when she was alone and thought she might die.  She’d lain on the ground in that underground tunnel, waiting to breathe, the pain in her shoulder a screaming burn, and she’d thought about him.  Leading the people away, keeping them safe, making her sacrifice worth it.

But she was alive.

“You made it,” Wren said, her voice rough and tired.  She turned to look up at Cassandra.

“Yes,” Cassandra said.  “We all did, thanks to you.”

“Good,” Wren said.  She closed her eyes again.  “Good.”

Wren wobbled, and Cullen caught her.  He stood up and held her tight to his chest.  She wanted to protest, but he was so warm, so very warm, and she was-

“She’s freezing,” Cullen said.  Wren felt his voice more than heard it.  Oh, it was lovely.  She was too weary to lie to herself about how good it sounded, and how much better it felt to be hearing it while cradled against his chest.  Safe.

If she could have cried, she would have.

“Hurry,” Cassandra said.  “We can help her back at camp.”

Cullen started walking, quickly.  Wren tucked her face against his shoulder.  She nuzzled into the cold fur and hid her nose.  

“We made it out of Haven before you set off the trebuchet,” Cassandra said.  “It was very close, but you gave us just enough time.”

Wren hummed her approval into Cullen’s shoulder, then turned her face out enough to be heard.  

“I tried,” she said.  “I’m glad it worked.  Varric owes me a sovereign.”

Cullen laughed, but it was a rough sound, more relief than humor.

A cold wind slipped around the rock face, making everyone stagger.  It cut through Wren’s armor and she started to shake.

When the wind died back again, Cullen said, “Seeker, would you help pull this around the Herald?”

“Of course,” Cassandra said.

Wren kept her eyes closed, but she felt when they stopped moving.  Cassandra tugged at Cullen’s cloak, pulling it over Wren as much as she could.  Cassandra pulled the fur away and tucked Wren in under the layers.

It was quieter there, and darker.  Wren couldn’t stop the shaking, but she felt better regardless.

She turned her face against Cullen’s shoulder to bury her nose there.  He smelled like steel and campfires and something else, a dark, rich, intoxicating something.  She suspected it was just Cullen.  

They started moving again, and the warmth seeped into Wren’s body.

“I want to walk into camp,” Wren said.

Cullen’s arms tightened around her.  

“I don’t want them thinking he beat us,” Wren said.

“Maker,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

When the noise of camp reached Wren’s ears, Cullen murmured, “Still want to walk?”

 _No,_ Wren thought.

“Yes,” she said.

Cullen let her slip down his body and onto her feet again.  There was relatively little snow here, to Wren’s great relief.

Wren dropped her shoulders, lifted her head, tipped up her chin, and walked toward camp.  Her armor was spattered in blood anywhere the snow hadn’t scrubbed it, her leather gloves were covered in ash, and she shook like a new calf - but the people of Haven saw her and a cacophony of cries met her arrival.

She had beaten the demon and come back to them.

They could survive anything.

 

* * *

 

She may have walked into camp, but the moment they were in the healer’s tent, she collapsed with a whimper.  Cullen caught her as she fell, holding her again and feeling terribly inadequate.  He carried her to a cot and set her down, leaving her in Mother Giselle’s hands and fleeing the tent to pace outside.

His vest was covered in ash handprints.

The first arguments he got into were half in earnest, half sheer stress.

He couldn’t stop remembering.   _The feel of her body pressed to his chest.  The little sound she made when she pressed her face against his shoulder.  How sure he’d been that she was gone._

He’d been staggered by the sense of loss.  She’d looked right at him and he’d known - she didn’t think she was coming back.  He wanted to grab her, tell her it didn’t matter, they’d send someone else, she couldn’t go.  But she did.  She looked at death and walked toward it, to save them.  To save him.

Maker, could he have done what she’d done?  

“Commander.”

His head whipped around and he looked over at the tent.

Mother Giselle smiled politely.

“She is fine, Commander.  Sleeping now.  I thought you would like to know.”

“I- thank you, Mother Giselle,” he said.

 

* * *

 

“It’s funny, Birdy,” Varric said.  “You’re the singer, yet half of Haven sang for you before you sang for any of us.”

Wren laughed.

“Are you doubting my skills, Varric?” she asked.  “I can pick up that gauntlet, if you’ve thrown it and not just dropped it on accident.”

“I wasn’t questioning your ability,” Varric said.  “Just saying, it’s a little weird.”

“I never sing on caravan jobs,” Wren said, “and this is the biggest caravan job I’ve ever had.”

“Maybe if this place we’re looking for really exists, you could make some time for it.  This isn’t just a job, Birdy.  It’s your life.  Do the things you love while you can.”

 

* * *

 

"Skyhold," Solas said.

The people around her shouted and cried, but all Wren could do was stare.   _Beautiful.  It's so beautiful._

When she came back to herself, she turned to Solas.

“You’ve saved us,” she said quietly.

“You led us here,” Solas said.

She looked at him and shook her head.

“Thank you,” she said.  

She looked at Skyhold, then back at Solas.  

“How would I say that in Elvish?  ‘Thank you’?”

“Ma serannas,” Solas said.

“Ma serannas,” Wren repeated carefully.  “Ma serannas, Solas.”

“You are welcome, Little Bird.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I appreciate it more than I can say. We aren't done yet, far from it, but I hope you're enjoying the story.


	11. Or, Things Fall Into Place

Walking across the long bridge to Skyhold was almost magical.  Several times Wren thought she might stop breathing, simply out of wonder.   _We’re alive.  We’re safe._

She walked next to Solas, and as the great gates came into view - already open - she reached out and grabbed his arm.

“This is real,” she said, not really a statement, not really a question.

“It is,” Solas confirmed.

She held on as they walked through the gates, like a child afraid she might be lost.

  

* * *

 

Once the settling in started, Wren had thought she could tuck herself away into some unseen corner and sleep.  Peace and quiet, finally, within the walls of the main hall.  She’d ducked up some steps, across a crumbling hall, then up more steps into a store room with walls covered in heavy tapestries.

She’d dug out a bed roll, set it between some crates, and curled up.

Then laid awake.

She was lonely.  Of all things, she couldn’t sleep because she was alone.  No one was sleeping next to her in a tent, twitching and waking her up after an hour.  There was no tent nearby containing a snoring Iron Bull or Varric.  No one was outside the tent sitting around a fire, keeping watch.  

Wren got up and wandered around the room, poking into the unlocked chests and yawning.

Clothes.  Books.  Trinkets.  Who left these things here?

The door below opened, and Wren heard careful footsteps on the stairs.  

Cassandra peered up through the balusters, then walked up faster.

“Herald,” she said.  “What are you doing up here?”

Wren was so glad to see her, and so grateful that she’d interrupted Wren’s aimless wandering that she nearly fell over herself rushing over to speak to the Seeker.

“Just looking around,” Wren said.  “What are you doing up here?”

“Looking for you,” Cassandra said.  “Are you finished exploring for the night?  We have cleared out a room downstairs for sleeping.  It is quite late, Herald.”

“I can be finished,” Wren said.  “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen woke up on the couch and stretched awkwardly, trying to get feeling back into his tired limbs.  He had slept, which felt like a gift, and an odd one considering the number of people that were in the room.

Josephine was still asleep, curled up on a stack of bed rolls in front of the fire.  Leliana was awake, reading reports in a chair by the stack of furniture in the corner.  Cassandra’s empty bedroll was near the door to the main hall.  Varric was splayed out in the corner.  He knew he’d heard other voices last night - where was everyone else?

When Cullen started to stir, Leliana looked up.

“Commander,” she said quietly.  

He looked over, and Leliana pointed to the floor next to the couch.

Cullen followed her direction and looked down.

Wren was curled up on the floor right next to the couch.  She was laying on her back, tangled in at least two blankets.  Her red hair was pulled back into scrubby little pigtails that stuck out behind her ears.  One leg had escaped the blankets, and- was she wearing a pair of Sera’s pants?No.  No.  These weren’t torn, and they weren’t yellow.  Where had she found teal plaidweave?  

Her arms were curled around her head, blocking the light.    

Cullen looked back at Leliana, faintly alarmed.  

Leliana just smirked and shrugged.

Cullen sighed.

He considered his options.  Could he climb over her?  No, he couldn’t be sure where her limbs were under the blankets.  Could he go over the ends of the couch?  Cullen sat up and looked behind him.  No, there were bags there.  He leaned over to look at the other end of the couch.  No, there was a table there.  He leaned over the back of the couch.  Sera was sleeping there, curled up on her side, facing the couch.  

He was surrounded.

He laid back down.

Wren stretched, reaching her arms up and dropping them away from her face.  She settled back down again with a little sigh.

Cullen leaned over the edge of the couch, looking down at the Herald.  

She had so many bruises, he thought.  Healing potions were a wonder, but they rarely did much for bruises.  By Mother Giselle’s accounting, Wren had come in to camp with a recently dislocated left shoulder, four cracked ribs, and lungs damaged from smoke inhalation - all apart from what they all considered standard battle damages.

Now there was just soreness and bruises, thanks to Madame Vivienne’s healing and a generous application of healing potions.  Wren moved stiffly, but she moved.  She was alive.  That still seemed like a wonder, even after days marching behind her through the mountains to Skyhold.

Wren’s eyes opened, pinning him in place where he was.

Wren looked at him for a long moment, and he wasn’t sure if she was really awake enough to know what she was seeing.  Maker, her eyes looked so big.  Had she always had so many freckles?

She reached up and touched the tip of his nose.  She pushed it, just slightly.

“Hi,” she said sleepily, dropping her hand back down.

“G-good morning, Herald,” he said.  

“It’s too early for the Herald,” Wren said.  “The Herald only shows up after I’m wearing pants.”

“You _are_ wearing pants,” Cullen pointed out.

Wren looked down and sighed.  

“You win this round, _pants_ ,” she said.

“Good morning, Herald,” Leliana said.

Wren sat up, stretching as she did.  Her blankets fell to her waist, and Cullen forgot how to breathe.  

_Maker._

Wren wore a soft linen undershirt, dark, like samite.  It was fitted around her ribs and then hugged her breasts, following every soft curve.  It laced up the sides under her arms with brilliant blue laces.  Straps went over her shoulders and held the whole thing up.

Cullen’s mouth went dry.  

“Morning, Leliana,” Wren said.  “Nothing is on fire yet, right?”

“We seem to be settling in well,” Leliana said.  “Though you might see fit to let the Commander off the couch, Herald.  He will have to see to the troops this morning.”

“Oh!”

Wren looked over at Cullen, surprised.

“I’m so sorry, Commander,” she said.

Sera’s head popped up over the back of the couch.

“Lookit you,” she said, leaning over to stare at Wren.  "Your hair is a disaster.  Good job you have nice tits, lady."

Cullen made a choked sound in his throat, and Wren looked down at herself.

“Thanks,” Wren said.

“Wanna see mine?” Sera asked, winking.

Wren squeaked and started to giggle.  “No!” she said.  “But come here, and I’ll show you the bruise I got that looks like a heart.”

Sera scrambled over the back of the couch, barely missing elbowing Cullen in the face in her hurry to get over to the Herald.  Wren slid over, close to Josie, so there'd be room for Cullen to escape.

Cullen left the couch and headed to the back corner to start assembling his armor for the day.  He turned his back on the room and grabbed his overshirt.

“It does look like a heart!” He heard Sera declare.

Josephine’s sleepy voice entered the conversation.  

“That one looks like a shield,” Josie said.

“You’re all weird,” Varric said.  “And you have one on your spine that looks like a bird.”

“I love you guys,” Wren said.

 

* * *

 

Whatever business there was to be sorted out had to wait while all hands set about moving rubble and cleaning up buildings.  Scaffolding had to be built.  Workmen had to be set to tasks.  An infirmary had to be established.  

Wren was in the thick of things, right up to her elbows.  She and Bull helped clear out the building that would be the tavern.  

_“Put me down!  I’m not a chair!  BULL!”_

_“That’s just what you’d say if you were a chair, boss.”_

She nearly fell to her death in the prison, saved only by Sera’s quick reflexes.

_“Are you daft?”_

_“Probably.”_

She helped move horses with Dennet and Blackwall.

_“Third stall, Herald.  No- from the left.”_

_“There’s already a horse in that one!”_

_“Ser Blackwall, did you-?”_

_“Right, sorry, I’ll move it.”_

_“No, just… fourth stall down, then.”_

She helped carry cages of ravens up to the third floor of the rotunda for Leliana.

_“That one seems to like you, Herald.”_

_“Is that what they do when they like you?”_

_“Well, he didn’t draw blood.”_

She dusted books and rearranged shelves with Dorian.

_“Hand me that one, would you dove?”_

_“This one?”_

_“Yes, thank you.”_

She stole painting tools for Solas, and helped him build his own little scaffold.

_“What are you going to do in here?”_

_“You’ll see, da’mi.”_

She and Josephine sorted papers for hours, trying to make sense of the jumble that had been saved just before the fall of Haven.

_“I think I have page three of that - wait, no, it can’t be.”_

_“Oh, wait!  I think I have- no.”_

_“What does this go to?  ‘Allow me to express my deep regrets regarding the matter of this past week.  I did not mean to insult you or your Commander so grievously.’.  Who insulted the Commander?”_

_“That goes over in this pile.  That was Lord D’Ontierre.  He insinuated that Commander Cullen was unfit as to lead due to his ‘simple Ferelden background’.”_

_“The nerve!  I hope you thrashed him severely, Josie.  Er- Josephine, sorry.”_

_“Josie is fine, Herald.”_

_“Wren.”_

_“Wren.  And yes, I did let him know that his opinions had not curried favor with us.”_

_“That means you thrashed him, right?”_

_“Indeed.”_

She and Varric helped test all the fireplaces by burning the letters he’d stockpiled from the Merchant’s Guild.

_“This one is from six months ago!  You haven’t even been here six months!”_

_“They always find me.”_

_“Monsters.”_

She ran errands for Vivienne for a few hours, until the balcony the mage had claimed was more to her liking.

_“A fainting couch?  Dear, you have better taste than I expected.”_

_“Er- thank you, Lady Vivienne.”_

She helped set up temporary training grounds with Cassandra.

_“Hold this for me, would you Herald?”_

_“Just don’t hit me with the hammer.”_

_“I will try not to do so.”_

Cullen was so busy that the best she could manage was passing him by while they both ran around doing different things.  She took up a habit of reaching out and touching his arm as they passed, like his armor was a lucky charm.  He smiled every time.

 

* * *

 

After the first week, Wren came out of a tower to find her advisors all consulting with Cassandra.

Before she knew quite what had happened, they had named her Inquisitor and handed her a sword.

A sick panic settled into her belly and refused to leave.  The weight of the entire Inquisition was on her shoulders, and she felt inadequate in every way.  What were they thinking, giving her this power?

She was utterly unprepared when she met Hawke.

She was unprepared to break up the fight between Cassandra and Varric.

She didn’t have answers for Sera.

She didn’t even understand Blackwall’s objection to her insistence that he not die.

She never had the right answers for Vivienne, despite the woman’s almost odd concern.

She felt more than a little odd that all it took for her own soldiers to not recognise her was a change of armor and a grunt or two.

She’d gone to bed after that little encounter, not bothering to object to her obscenely large and fancy new quarters above the war room.  She felt as if she’d aged five years in one day.

The next day she talked to Dorian, flirting casually and enjoying his company.  It looked as if things were back to business as usual, until she went to speak to Solas and found herself walking through the Fade with him, reviewing Haven and the events that had led her to her new position.

When she woke up in her bed, she groaned and covered her face with the blankets.

 _When do things stop being weird around here?_ she wondered.

She climbed back out of bed and went outside.  

Cullen was set up in the lower yard, giving orders to the forces that were recovered enough to take them.  He was stationary, for once - that was odd, but it reminded her of Haven.

_Could he be settling into business as usual?  Maybe that’ll be reassuring to watch._

She walked over, trying to stay back far enough to just absorb the familiar sound of the Commander telling the men what to do.

It settled into her bones, and she sighed.  Something was normal.  A cross, overworked Commander barking at men and looking through stacks of paper - an odd thing to find comforting, but there she was.

When he noticed her there - and he did, damn him, despite her effort to be subtle, he called her over to tell her about progress.  It was almost like that first conversation, when he’d talked about the possibilities of the Inquisition, but now he was more intent, more focused.  They would be prepared here.  They would make a stand.  They would fight.

He called her “Inquisitor”, and the word stung like a razor cut when she heard it.  First “Herald”, now this.  She felt like nobody would ever see her again - just her, just Wren, the little Marcher bird.  Was that who she was anymore?  Would that ever be who she was again?

“Inquisitor Trevelyan,” she said.  She rolled it around her mouth.  Her new name.  It tasted like lead on her tongue.

She sighed.

“Thank you, Commander,” she said.  

She looked down.  Inquisitor.  She could see it, like chains hanging off her shoulders.   _Inquisitor.  First they hated you.  Then they feared you.  Now they fight for you.  Die for you.  Is that what you wanted?_

What was it Bull had said?  Qunari make leaders of the people willing to make the hard decisions and live with the consequences.

She looked at Cullen.  He was watching her.  How long had she stood there, thinking?  Maker, she hoped it hadn’t been long.

“Our escape from Haven… it was close,” she said.  

Wren looked away.  She remembered the red of his cloak against the white of the snow, how safe she’d felt when he’d caught her.  When he'd held her.  She looked back up, and words spilled out before she could think about them.  “I’m relieved that you-”

She froze, then quickly looked away.  “T-that so many made it out,” she finished.  She felt her face go hot with embarrassment.   _Foolish._   

“As am I,” he said.  His face softened, and he looked off to the side.  Remembering, but what she wasn’t certain.  What had the fall of Haven looked like from above?

She was backing away before she could think about it, taking advantage of his distraction to turn around and slip away.

“You stayed behind,” he said, his voice soft.

She paused, and he stepped closer.  He reached for her arm and caught it, stopping her.  

“You could have-” his voice was tight, almost angry.

Wren turned to look at him.  She remembered burning his face into her mind in the Chantry in Haven.  She wished her strongest memory of him weren’t so sharp, or so sad.

He released her arm.

“I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again,” he said vehemently.  “You have my word.”

Wren nodded.  She wasn’t sure what to say.  What comfort could the Inquisitor offer him?

She had nothing.  She was only Wren, so she left him in the yard to his work.

 


	12. Or, Questions Without Answers

“So.  Wolfson, it is?”

“Yes, Master Tethras.”

“You knew our Birdy before, right?”

“Yes ser.  We trained together at Ostwick.”

Wren looked over at Varric and Wolfson and narrowed her eyes.

“She claims to be a singer, Wolfson, but I’ve never heard a song out of her,” Varric said.  “You ever hear anything?”

Wolfson looked over at Wren, who shot him a look that plainly said _don’t you dare_.

“Ser,” Wolfson said, “it is a wonder to me that you have managed to keep her silent all this time.”

“Keep mocking me, Wolfson, and this will be the last excursion I take you on,” Wren said.

“Would I mock you, Trevelyan?”

“Yes.  You would.  You have.  You do,” Wren said.

“Here I thought I’d done so well,” Wolfson said.  “Perhaps I ought to have told the Commander more interesting things when he asked me about you.”

“Interesting like what?” Varric asked.

“There was the time another trainee tried to kiss her and she-”

“Don’t even think about it!” Wren said, her voice rising.

“No?  What about when you stole a horse and-”

“No.”

“The time they caught you naked in the-”

“NO.”

“I want to hear that one,” Dorian said.

“Why can’t we talk about you, Wolfson?  How about that time you got caught in the hot springs?  What did the report say?  ‘Despite the odds, it would appear that the hot water did nothing to prevent-’”

“You’ve made your point,” Wolfson said, clearing his throat.

“I’ve changed my mind.   _That_ sounds like a much more interesting story,” Dorian said.  

“Oh, it is,” Wren said.  “You should ask Wolfson to tell you about it.  It loses something when I tell it.”

“Something like my discomfort, Trevelyan?”

“No, I was thinking about the way you start to trail off when you try to think of euphemisms and fail.  Hilarious, every time.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen spied them coming through his office windows, and sent word to Leliana and Josephine.  

The responsible thing done, he allowed himself time to just watch the Herald and her party progress toward the long bridge into Skyhold.

He knew he was going to have to speak with her.  She was the Inquisitor now, and she needed to know- well.  She needed to know.  He owed it to her to tell her, both because she was the Inquisitor and because she… well.  They were friends, weren’t they?

He watched her walk up the bridge next to Sera.  Sera was telling some story or another, her hands animated.  Wren was calm, the perfect foil for whatever wild thing was causing Sera to nearly flail herself off the bridge.

Then Wren said something, and Sera laughed so hard that she nearly ran into Varric.

Cullen smiled, then shook his head.

She’d always been around somewhere for the first week or so, doing what she could to help.  He’d seen her helping the mage healers at the infirmary.  He knew she helped Blackwall stockpile wood for the fires.  He’d seen her eating tiny cakes with Josephine over long pages of reports.  What he hadn’t been able to do was find the time to stop and see her himself.

There was always more for him to do, and it never stopped.  

Cullen turned away from the window.

Maker, he missed her.  Missed seeing her, missed the way she knocked him off balance with just a look, missed her little comments breathed just barely audibly as they walked away from the war room back in Haven.  Missed the way she teased him, missed seeing her nearly topple off the crate in her eagerness to help if a recruit fell.  Even the touch of her hand in passing had made his days easier to navigate.

He stepped away and went back to his work, but he kept thinking of Wren - the subtle accent that colored her words, the way she hummed when she was thinking, the way she smelled, the way her lips curled when she smiled.  Maker, her mouth, the way it quirked up when she flirted with him.

He shook his head.

 

* * *

 

It was like drowning.  Wren heard his voice, but it was as if she were ten feet below and sinking.  She heard the ocean in her ears, loud as the pounding waves on the Storm Coast.  She felt as though she were trying to breathe salt water, burning her chest, burning her lungs.

_ He’d quit taking lyrium. _

“You stopped?” she asked.

“When I joined the Inquisition.  It’s been months now,” he said.  “After what happened in Kirkwall, I couldn’t- I won’t be bound to that life or the Order any longer.  Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”

Wren felt herself nod, but couldn’t say that she’d chosen to do it.

“I would not put the Inquisition at risk.  I’ve asked Cassandra to... watch me.  If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved of duty,” Cullen said.

A memory hit her - sitting on the dock in Haven.   _I probably work too much_ , he’d said.  He did - does - but Maker, the nightmares.   _No wonder he didn’t sleep, no wonder he was-_

“Are you in pain?” she asked.  She knew the answer, but had to hear it.

He looked up.

“I can endure it,” he said.

Wren nodded again, weakly.   _That’s not what I asked, but it’s an answer._

The words fell from her lips, almost too formal, too careful.  “Thank you for telling me,” she said.  “I respect what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” Cullen said.

_ Inquisitor. _

She remembered the lectures in training - how if you stopped the lyrium, you’d go mad.  You’d die screaming.

She wanted to scream.  She could feel it, bubbling in her chest like the salt water burn in her lungs.  Did she want him to quit?  Maker, she wanted him to have never taken it.  But he could die.  This could kill him.

Wren left the office and headed for the tavern.

 

* * *

 

Wolfson walked up and sat down next to Wren on the crumbling battlement wall.

“Got enough to share, Trevelyan?” he asked, nodding toward the bottle next to her.

“Sure,” she said, pushing it toward him.

He took a swig, then coughed.

“You and your cider,” he said.  “What’s wrong with a good ale?”

“Only you, Wolfson, would drink my alcohol and then complain about it.”

“Aw, don’t say that.  I’m sure lots of people would.”

Wren leaned over and shoved him with her shoulder.

“Careful,” he said.  “You’ll spill your terrible cider.”

“Give it back, then,” she said, reaching out.

He held it just out of reach.

Wren sat back down and crossed her arms in a sulk.

He handed it back, and she drank more of it before setting it down out of his reach.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Wren drinking her cider and Wolfson keeping her company.

“I’ve spent time with the mages since we talked,” Wolfson said as the sky turned pink with the sunset.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Wolfson rubbed his hand through his hair.

“They’re just people.  I’m trying to remember that.”

“It wasn’t easy for me at first, either.  It’s easy for me now, but when I first left I did and said a lot of stupid things.  You’re doing better than I did.”

“Did you leave the Templars because…?”

“No.  I wish that’d been my reason.  It would be so much nobler.”

Wren sighed.

“It’s a big reason that I don’t regret leaving, though.  It’s never sat right with me, the way mages live in Circles, but I would have done my job without question,” she said.  “I can’t judge our Templars.  I could have been them.  I almost was them.”

“What happened, then?”

“Someone I loved begged me not to go through with it, and gave me the means to get out.  It was that simple.”

“It doesn’t sound simple.  I couldn’t have done it then, not after all those years of training.”

“After the price that was paid, I had to.”

Wren drank the rest of the bottle, then held the warm glass between her hands.

“I don’t know if this is a secret,” she said. “But I’m going to trust you with it.”

“Go on.”

“One of our Templars quit taking lyrium.”

Wolfson recoiled, looking at her with sympathy.

“That’s a death sentence, Trevelyan.”

“Maker, I hope it isn’t.  It can’t be, Wolfson.  Do you understand?  It can’t be.  I can’t live with that.”  

Her fingers wrapped tighter around the bottle, her knuckles almost white with the pressure.

“You’ve been through training.  You know what they tell you,” Wolfson said.

“Training was wrong about other things.  Thomas, I can’t- I can’t. _I can’t_ ,” Wren said.  Her voice broke a little, and she shook her head.

Wren pitched the empty cider bottle off the battlements, and they listened to the glass shatter against the stones.

“Has he been taking it long?” Wolfson asked.

“Probably.  Assuming he got it at 18 like the others do… fifteen years, probably.”

Wolfson sucked his breath in through his teeth.

“I know,” Wren said.

“If he can, then anyone could.  Do you understand?  This isn’t one year out, five years out.  If he can do it, then…”  Wolfson sounded thoughtful.

Wren looked at him, eyes a little wild.  “What are you saying, Wolfson?”

“If he doesn’t die, it might be worth trying.  You don’t know, Little Bird, but the lyrium owns you once you’ve had it.  You’re never free again.  What would it be like to be free?” Wolfson asked.

“You’d be giving up a lot,” Wren said.

“I don’t have much left to give up, Trevelyan.  I left the Order while you were away.”

Wren grabbed his arm.  “You-”

“The Templars at Haven- that would have been me, growing lyrium out of my body and burning Haven.  That’s where the Order went.  That’s what they wanted for me.  No.  I’m done.”

“We’ll still- we won’t cut your lyrium supply, Wolfson.  You don’t have to do anything.  You can keep- don’t do anything rash,” Wren said, her heart racing again like a rabbit’s.

“I won't.  I talked to the Commander about it already.  He said the Inquisition would support me even after I left the Order.  I’m still taking it now, but maybe… if whoever quit succeeds, it might be worth trying.”

Wren let out a shuddering sigh.  "Yes," she said.

Wolfson looked over at Wren.  “If there’s anything I can do to help the Templar, Little Bird…”

Wren nodded.  She took a slow breath in, then let it out again.

“I’ll tell you,” she said.  

"It's going to be fine," Wolfson said.

"Tell me that again later," Wren said.  "Maybe once a day for a while."

Wolfson leaned back and looked at the sky.

"I'll need new armor," he said.

"I'll talk to Harritt.  I know he doesn't supply the troops, but... it could be a present for you.  Something really awful, maybe plaidweave and Dawnstone," Wren said.

“Maybe you can help me pierce my ears again, Trevelyan.  I can finally start wearing all the gold I’m entitled to as a proud son of Rivain,” Wolfson said, winking.

The tightness in her chest started to ease.  Maker, they had gotten in trouble for that one.  She’d pierced his ears with a needle from her mending kit.  They’d both gotten lectures about how being a Templar meant giving up things like Rivaini gold earrings, and how one was not to stab one’s friends, even at their request.

“Who’s going to stop us?  I’m the Inquisitor,” Wren said.  “You can be as fancy as you like, Wolfson.”

“I’m going to write to my mother,” Wolfson said.  “She’ll let me know exactly how fancy I’m allowed to be.”

“Once you know, come tell me and I’ll get out the punches.  No leather needles this time,” Wren said, bumping him with her shoulder.  She stayed leaning against him, and he set his head on hers.

“No matter what happens, Little Bird, I have no regrets about following you,” he said.  “Not when we were kids, and not now.”

“Thanks, Wolfson.”

 

* * *

 

“You sing,” Cole said.

“Hmm?” Wren looked over at him.  

“In your head.  Why?”

“I like singing,” Wren said.

“Why does it all stay in your head?”

“I’m sure everyone else doesn’t need to hear every song that flits around up there,” Wren said with a grin.

“I like hearing them,” Cole said.  “Sometimes you do other voices.”

“Sometimes the song is better that way,” Wren said.

“Can you do other voices outside your head?”

“Sure,” Wren said.  “Most of the time.  Do you want to hear one?”

“Yes,” Cole said.

“Oooh, do Blackwall,” Sera said.

“Do what?” Blackwall said, looking up from sharpening his sword.

Wren cleared her throat.  “Maker’s Balls,” she grumbled.  The voice that came out was nearly perfectly Blackwall’s, and he dropped his whetstone.

Sera cackled and fell backward off the log where she’d been sitting.

“How’d you do it?” Sera asked.

“Practice mostly,” Wren said.  “You have to listen for the pieces that make up someone’s voice and then put them together.  I’m really good at some voices, but not as good at others.”

“You’re very good at Cullen’s voice,” Cole said.

“I’ve been practicing,” Wren said.  “It’s fun to wait for him to be off doing paperwork and then start yelling commands at the recruits in his voice.”

“Will you sing for us out loud some day?”

“Any time you want, Cole.”

“Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about the music:
> 
> I lack a comprehensive guide to music throughout Thedas, so I've chosen in the chapters to come to adapt or repurpose music that is played at renaissance faires. Music there is a combination of traditional, invented, and adapted modern songs played in a vaguely medieval style, and that is rather the closest I can come to the mix of modern and fantasy that pervades the DA universe.
> 
> When music appears in the text, I'll post the song title and artist in the notes. Where possible, I will link to an appropriate video.
> 
> Also, I was asked earlier about the undershirt Wren wears. It is based off the Lengberg castle garments. For more information, please see this tutorial, which contains a lot of useful pictures and links to articles about that find. https://katafalk.wordpress.com/2013/03/14/lengberg-castle-brassiere/


	13. Or, a Song is Sung and a Game is Interrupted

Wren cut across and through the scaffolding out onto the walkway above the garden.  Some few bedrooms had been repaired there, and one of them was Cassandra’s.  The Seeker’s door was open, so Wren stopped shy of entering.

“Seeker?” Wren asked, tapping on the doorjamb.  

“Herald! Ah- yes?” Cassandra said.  Wren heard a frantic rustling, and then Cassandra came to the door.

Wren tipped her head to the side.

“Is something wrong?” Wren asked.

“No, no,” Cassandra said.  She tried to avoid looking over her shoulder back at the room, but her entire posture screamed of that desire.

“You are a terrible liar,” Wren said.

Cassandra sighed.

“I was reading,” she said.

Wren’s eyes lit up.  

“Anything good?” Wren asked, a devilish grin twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“Ah- it’s…”

“Is it better than Swords and Shields?  Varric is good, but his understanding of what might interest a lady can be a bit basic,” Wren said.

Cassandra looked conflicted for a moment, then waved Wren into the room.

“This,” Cassandra said, fishing around under her pillow.  She produced a blue hardcover book and handed it to the Herald.

Wren flipped it open, then squeaked.  She closed the cover and looked at Cassandra.

“There are pictures!” Wren said, her voice full of delighted surprise.

“Some,” Cassandra said.  "Nothing too salacious, Herald."

Wren opened the book again immediately and started flipping through it.

Cassandra watched Wren’s face as she turned the pages.  When the Herald turned quite suddenly pink, Cassandra raised an eyebrow.

Wren closed the book again.

“Do you want to borrow it?” Cassandra asked.

Wren blinked in surprise.  “Really?  But weren’t you reading it just now?” she asked.

“I read it some time ago.  Sera 'borrowed' it, and I just found it again," Cassandra said.  "I was going to put it away when you arrived.”

“Oh!  Then… yes.  Thank you, Cassandra,” Wren said.  

“Did you need something before, Inquisitor?” Cassandra asked.

“Oh!  Yes.  I wanted to see if you would go with me to the Oasis,” Wren said.  

“Certainly.  Who else will be going?”

“Varric and Bull,” Wren said.  “I sent the Chargers off to look after Haven, and Bull gets twitchy when they’re gone.”

“I understand.  When will we be leaving?”

“The day after tomorrow.  I have a thing with Josie tomorrow that I don’t want to miss,” Wren said.

“A thing?”

“We’re having tea and talking about my terrible family,” Wren said.

“Ah.”

“I’ll talk to you later, then?” Wren said, tucking the book into her shirt, tight between the vest and her undershirt.

“Of course,” Cassandra said.

Wren left the room and hopped over the short railing onto the roof.  She skittered across it, her head full of the picture that had captured her attention.  The look on the face of the man in the drawing, intent and focused, like- well.  Like the Commander, when he was in training, bearing down on his opponent.   _Maker._   This crush might be the death of her.

Wren shook her head, then jumped down onto the roof of the gazebo.  She looked below, and spotted Mother Giselle.

She grinned wickedly.

Wren owed the revered Mother for all that she had done for the Inquisition, but since Giselle’s “helpful” warnings about Dorian- well.  

Wren calculated her distance, then dropped off the edge of the roof.

She landed a foot from the elderly woman.  Mother Giselle’s panicked gasp was like a balm on Wren’s soul.   _Take that, you nosy judgmental biddy._

Wren straightened and brushed herself off.

“Why, fancy seeing you here, dove.”

Wren looked over and beamed.  “Dorian!” she said.  

The mage was sitting at the chess table, looking quite pleased with himself.  He was playing against-

_The Commander.  Maker’s balls, of course it’s the Commander._

Wren tried not to think about the picture from the book.

She walked over to Dorian and set her hand on his shoulder, then bent and kissed his cheek.

“To what do we owe this delightful visit?” Dorian asked.

“I wish I could say I had planned, it,” Wren said, “but it was just a lucky chance in landing.”

“You could use the stairs, you know,” Dorian said.

“Stairs!  How could you suggest such a thing?” Wren asked.  “Think of all the extra time that takes!  That’s time I could spend instead with the prettiest man in the Inquisition, you know.”

“Ah, but which of us are you talking about?  The Commander has no lack of admirers, you know,” Dorian said.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Cullen said.

“Ridiculous?  Perish the thought, Commander.  I speak only the truth,” Dorian said.  His smile became teasing.  “Tell him, little bird,” he suggested.

“Does the Commander have many admirers?  Should I retain a guard for him to prevent enterprising ladies from carrying him off?” Wren asked.

“Perhaps you should,” Dorian said.

 

“Dorian,” Cullen said impatiently.  "It's your turn."

“I don’t know if it’s in the budget, anyway,” Wren said.  She frowned at the board, then left Dorian’s side and walked over to look over Cullen’s shoulder.

“Your position looks even worse from here,” Wren said.  “Really, Dorian, what have you been doing this whole game?”

“Admiring the Commander, of course,” Dorian said, winking.  "I highly recommend it."

Cullen shook his head.

“You’re mad,” he said.  “And trying to distract me.”

“I’m doing no such thing, but it is a good idea,” Dorian said.  “Be a dear, dove, and distract the Commander so I can plot.”

Wren looked at the board and shook her head.

Wren bent and put her mouth by Cullen’s ear.

“I haven’t the least idea how to distract you,” she whispered.  “But you could pretend I’ve said something naughty and help save my reputation with Dorian.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said, keeping his eyes on Dorian, “I couldn’t possibly.”

“That’s not nice,” Wren whispered. “Now I’ll have to actually distract you.”

Cullen chuckled.  “You can try,” he said.

"Is that a challenge?" Wren whispered.

"It could be," Cullen said.

Wren thought about this, then shrugged.  She reached down and poked Cullen in the ribs.

He yelped, then seemed to realize his mistake.  “No-” he started to protest.

Wren’s eyes lit up with mischief and she poked him again.  Cullen squirmed and tried to get away, but at the sign of weakness Wren redoubled her efforts.  She wove her fingers around his batting hands, poking and prodding while Cullen tried to dodge her and block her efforts.

When he reached for her ribs to go on the offensive Wren squealed and dodged, spinning away to where he couldn’t reach from the chair.  He started to get up, then looked at the board and frowned.

“You almost had me,” he said, scolding.

Wren giggled and walked over to lean on Dorian’s shoulder.

“Nice work,” Dorian said approvingly.

“I’ll leave you to the rest,” Wren said.

 

* * *

 

“Did you win?” Wren asked.

Dorian looked at her, sitting sideways in his chair with her legs over the arm and her arm around the back.  A partially read book was in her hand, and she was only half paying attention to her own question.

“Nearly,” he said.  “Your interruption ruined the perfectly good cheating I was attempting to do, but your distraction allowed me to recover.”

“Sorry,” she said.  “And you’re welcome.”

“What are you reading, dove?”

“Mmm, book of songs,” she said.  “Isn’t it funny how the same tune has different words depending on where you are?  Sometimes it’s even different from town to town.”

“Sing one,” Cole said.

Wren nearly fell off the chair, and Dorian stumbled backward.

“Maker, Cole, warn a girl before you show up,” Wren said, putting her hand on her chest.

“You said you’d sing a song any time I asked,” Cole said.  “Can you sing one now?”

“Um, sure,” Wren said.  “What kind of song would you like?”

“A pretty one,” he said.

“Well, that narrows it down,” Wren said.

She looked around.

“I… don’t have anything to play while I sing,” she said.  “I haven’t even tried to replace my lute.”

“I’ll find you one,” Cole said.

He disappeared again.

Wren looked over at Dorian in contrition.

“Sorry,” she said.  “I did promise.”

“It’s fine.  I’m actually quite interested to hear this,” Dorian said.  “I’ve heard people talk about your singing, but I’ve never actually heard it.  Seems I should have been running around Ferelden like a vagrant if I wanted the pleasure.”

“You would never have been in any tavern bad enough for me to sing in, even if you had been running around like a vagrant,” Wren said.

“Here,” Cole said, appearing again with a worn but serviceable lute.

Wren took it and checked the tuning.  Utterly terrible - so this wasn’t one of Maryden’s.  

“It doesn’t belong to anyone,” Cole said.

Wren tuned it, humming and twisting pegs and checking again until she got it where she wanted it.  She tested it a final time, then nodded.

“It has a good tone,” Wren said.  “Thank you, Cole.”

“Will you sing, then?”

“Yes, of course.  I promised, didn’t I?  I’ll always sing when you ask me,” she said.  

“Dangerous promise, that,” Dorian said.

“Cole is responsible with promises,” Wren said.

“What song will you sing?” Cole asked.

“Hmm…” Wren picked at the strings, then nodded.

She began to play a gentle tune.  She hadn’t thought about the way the sound would carry, but carry it did - up to the rafters and down to Solas’ desk below.

“Slowly, slowly, walk the path,” Wren sang, “and you might never stumble or fall.  Slowly, slowly, walk the path - you might never fall in love at all.”

The Herald’s voice, stronger in the chorus as she settled into her task, filled the building.

“Golden, golden is her hair like the morning sun over fields of corn.  Golden, golden flows her love, so sweet and clear and warm.”

Cole curled up by Wren’s feet to watch her.

“Lonely, lonely, is the heart that ne’er another can call his own. Lonely, lonely, bides the heart that has to live all alone,” Wren sang.

“Golden, golden is her hair like the morning sun over fields of corn.  Golden, golden flows her love, so sweet and clear and warm.”

She picked at the lute, playing the tune soft and clear.  Upstairs, Leliana and Cullen stood silently listening.  Cullen drifted closer to the railing to peer down at the floor below.  

“Wildly, wildly beats the heart with a rush of love like a mountain stream.  Wildly, wildly play your part, as free as a wild bird’s dream.”

Below, Solas painted, listening and thinking of lost memories.

“Golden, golden is her hair like the morning sun over fields of corn.  Golden, golden flows her love, so sweet and clear and warm.”

She finished the song, and Cole smiled.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she said.  

 

* * *

 

Leliana stood at the war table and looked at Cullen and Josephine.

“Varric’s last letter says that ‘if Curly is the proud father of the troops, Birdy has become their mother.  They would do anything to please her, and anything to defend her.  Don’t tell Birdy though, or she’ll start making that ‘I’m going to get everyone killed’ face again.’,” Leliana said.  

“I’m the ‘proud father of the troops’?” Cullen asked, somewhat incredulous.

“To hear Varric tell it, certainly,” Leliana said.  “I am not doubting his assessment.”

Cullen shook his head.

“The troops _are_  quite fond of her,” Cullen conceded, changing the subject.  “I have noticed a shift since Haven.  Before they were polite about her, but since we've arrived at Skyhold they have grown increasingly loyal.”

“What else did Varric have to say?” Josephine asked.

“Work progresses well.  Varric also mentioned this - ‘If the troops start singing during training, blame Birdy.  She was teaching them sailing songs to march with, and now half the forces hum them when we go anywhere.’,” Leliana said.

“I wish I had heard her when you two did,” Josephine said.  “Dorian was very smug when he told me about it later.”

“If you asked her, I am certain she would sing for you,” Leliana said.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” Josephine says.  “She is so busy.”

“They should be back soon, yes?” Cullen asked.

“Another week, Commander,” Leliana said.

“We have to move on the Warden situation soon,” Cullen said.  

“Yes,” Leliana agreed.  “The news out of Crestwood was troubling.  As requested, my scouts have made camp in the Western Approach.  Once the Herald returns, she should be able to investigate the situation.”

“I need to speak with her about some matters of diplomacy,” Josephine said.  She looked at the war table map and tapped Denerim.  “King Alistair sent a letter.”

“Alistair?” Leliana asked.  “Well.  I suppose he could use the help, with the Warden away.”

The thought of it brought Leliana to pause.  Warden Cousland had been a dear friend, and the loss of her troubled the Spymaster.  If anyone could cure the Calling, it would be the Queen - but was it even possible?  Leliana did not know, and had not been able to find anyone to give her hope for the woman’s desperate quest.

“Have we found anything more about Samson?” Cullen asked.

“Yes - I have the report here.  I sent a letter to the Herald as well,” Leliana said.   She handed the report to Cullen, who skimmed it quickly.

“Supply lines through the Graves,” Cullen mumbled.

“My scouts have heard some troubling things from Emprise du Lion,” Leliana said.  “I will advise the Herald about it when she arrives.”

“What is it?” Cullen asked, looking up.

“Just whispers right now,” Leliana said, “but troubling ones.  People are disappearing.  Red lyrium spikes are growing wildly.  Templars have been seen in the area.”

Cullen shook his head.

“Going back to Varric’s report,” Josephine said, “I must say I’m pleased that the troops have such high morale and strong loyalty to the Inquisitor.  Perhaps we could make an effort to send new forces out with her each time she returns.”

“She needs experienced soldiers and mages with her,” Cullen said.

“The way they get to be experienced is by giving them the experiences,” Leliana said.  “I agree with Josephine.  We should cycle through as many men as possible, if it is the singing and her company which is making the difference.  Perhaps send that Wolfson with her, if you have concerns.  They work well together.”

Cullen grumbled.  “They do,” he conceded.

“I trust I will see you both at the interlude in two days time?” Josephine asked.

Both Leliana and Cullen fell still.  They looked at one another, then at Josephine.

She had a look on her face which brooked no argument.

“Of course,” Leliana said.

“Yes,” Cullen sighed.

“Good,” Josephine said firmly.

 

* * *

 

Wren had stopped caring about restoring order so much as she cared about helping people and stopping Corypheus.  If that also ended up restoring order, she was fine with that.  She wasn’t even sure she understood what it meant to restore order anymore.  Who decided what order was?  

She liked to focus on goals she could understand - helping people.  In that respect, she and Cole were well suited.  The two together were a deadly pair - two assassins, cloaked in darkness, able to bring death before an opponent could blink.  When she brought him with her, the two of them often took out enemies before the others could even lift their weapons.

Reports sent to the advisors by other party members ranged from admiring to faintly horrified.

Wren was almost parental with Cole, gentle and affectionate.  She often sang him lullabies, despite the fact that no one was really certain if he slept.  To Wren, that sort of detail didn’t matter, and Cole was always happy to hear her.

“When you sing, I can see you,” Cole told her.  

“Can you not see me otherwise?” Wren asked.

“You’re too bright,” Cole said.  “But when you sing it’s quiet.  I can see you through the light.”

The Western Approach was vast, hot during the day and cold at night.  They were going to meet with the Warden in the morning, so Wren called an early night.

She hummed as she tended to the soup pot on the hook over the fire.

“Inquisitor.  The word makes a knife of his tongue, sharp, stinging, stabbing.  It hurts you,” Cole said.

Wren nodded as she stirred the soup.  She wasn’t sure who Cole meant, but she knew the string he was tugging.

“He doesn’t know,” Cole said.  

“What is he talking about this time?” Blackwall asked.

“He doesn’t know it hurts you.  He thinks it’s important, but it isn’t,” Cole insisted.  “The lion needs the cage to protect him.”

“Ah- the Commander,” Wren said.

“What is the Commander doing to hurt you?” Blackwall asked, scowling.

“Nothing interesting,” Wren said.

Bull chuckled.

Wren winked at Bull.

“I don’t like the Commander to call me Inquisitor when we’re not working,” Wren explained.  “He’s not capable of not working, so he always calls me Inquisitor.”

“Why don’t you like him to call you Inquisitor?” Blackwall asked.

Wren stirred the soup and thought about her answer.

“It isn’t just him,” Wren said.  “I don’t really like any of my friends to do it.”

“The Inquisition isn’t a thing.  Neither is the Inquisitor,” Cole said.

“That’s kind of it, yes,” Wren said.  “I don’t like hearing ‘Inquisitor’ because it feels like a part I have to play.  If you ask for the Inquisitor, then I have to be the Inquisitor.”

“But… you are the Inquisitor,” Blackwall said.

She looked down at the bubbling pot.

“It’s the job I do, but it’s not who I am.  Sometimes when you’re talking to a person, you want to think they see you.  Not some fabled Herald, not some mighty leader, but just - the person you are,” she said.

She looked over at Blackwall.

“I guess that sounds dumb,” she said.  “Anyway, soup is done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Golden, Golden is a lovely song. I heard it first performed by a band then known as Double Indemnity. They undoubtedly took it from Silly Wizard, and it that version I can link to you here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L2yZLrMBZCw


	14. Or, a Significant Game is Played

Wren put her head down on the desk and sighed.

“Trouble, Inquisitor?” Knight-Captain Rylen asked.

“Only everything,” Wren said.  “I understand being afraid, but _summoning demons with blood magic is never an appropriate response_.”

“I agree with you,” Rylen said.  “If it’s any consolation.”

“Thanks, Knight-Captain,” Wren said.  “I’m just glad I don’t have to be in Skyhold when the reports arrive.”

Wren turned her head to the side.

“The King of Ferelden is a Warden,” she said.  “We should- Josephine will write to him.  I’m sure she’ll think of it.”

Wren sat up.

“His wife is off looking for a cure for the Calling.  If she’s hearing it like the rest of them- oh, _Maker_ , I hope she isn’t.  It’s already too awful,” Wren said.  "It can't get worse, or I might cry."

“Perhaps she’s like Blackwall and it doesn’t bother her,” Rylen suggested.

Wren made a humming noise and didn’t answer.  There was a niggling doubt in her head about Blackwall, and she didn’t like it being there.  

_What do you mean you don’t fear the Calling?  That worrying about it gives it power?  If the Calling can just be ignored, just be shrugged away, then why is Stroud so haunted?  Why are the Wardens killing each other in desperation?_

Wren shook her head.   _Stop thinking about it.  Blackwall is your friend.  You trust him.  He’s just… doing that thing he does, where he lies about Warden stuff._

“Instead of going back to Skyhold,” Wren said, “maybe I’ll run away from home and live in a cave for a while.”

“I wouldn’t suggest it, Inquisitor.  Caves are full of nasty things, and I need you to authorize the missions we discussed.  The water supply isn’t going to fix itself,” Rylen said.

“Oh, fine,” Wren said.  “But only because I like you, Rylen.”

"Thank you, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

“Okay.  Relocate it, then,” Wren said.

“Are you joking?” Cullen said, incredulous.  “You’re really going to relocate a varghest?  That’s-”

“-a perfectly good plan,” Leliana said, scowling at the Commander.

“I put the marker down, so it’s too late for rebuttals,” Wren said.  “You’re taking care of getting decent food to Griffon Wing Keep, anyway.  We don’t have the resources to spread any thinner than that.  We’re already diverting men to take care of the sulphur that’s blocking access to the darkspawn.”

“I suppose,” Cullen said, though he sounded utterly unconvinced.

“If that's everything, I’m going to check in with Wolfson,” Wren said.  “If you hear cursing, just pretend you don’t.”

“Is there a problem, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked.

“As I recall, he isn’t much of a bleeder, so no,” Wren said, musing.

Josephine looked up from her board.

“Please tell me this is about the letter he received from his mother and not about that strange stabbing game.  I had to have a talk with The Iron Bull about that the other day.”

“It isn’t fair when Bull plays that game,” Wren said.  “He’s already missing fingers.  But yes, it’s about the letter.  Now that Wolfson isn’t a Templar, he can start wearing all the gold that befits his station.”

“It’s very odd that anyone from Rivain would be a Templar at all,” Leliana said.

“Wolfson's mother has been waiting for him to come to that conclusion for most of his life,” Wren said.  “I imagine she can die happy now, even if he does still believe in the Maker.”

Wren patted a pouch at her hip.

“I get to help ornament him,” Wren said.  “By which I mean I’m going to punch some holes in him.”

“Come by the aviary later,” Leliana said.  “I have some interesting reports to share with you about the woman that would have led the mages, had we not stolen them from under her nose.  It seems she’s on the run from Corypheus.”

“Oh?  I’ll look forward to it,” Wren said.  

Wren looked over at Cullen, who was scowling thoughtfully at the war table.

“Someone poke him after I’ve gone, so he doesn’t get stuck there for hours,” Wren said.  “He’s got his plotting face on.”

She dropped her voice in a conspiratorial fashion.

“He’s awfully ticklish under his ribs on the left,” Wren said.

Wren left the room, but just as the door was closing, she heard Cullen yelp.

 

* * *

 

“Inquisitor!”

Cullen moved to stand up, and Dorian raised an eyebrow.

“Leaving, are you?  Does this mean I win?”

Cullen narrowed his eyes, then sat down again.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Wren said.  She leaned against one of the gazebo posts, a grin playing at her lips.

She and Dorian shared a look, and her grin took proper hold.   _He’s cheated again._  

“Play nice now,” she said.   _Every time you cheat, you lose._

“I’m always nice,” Dorian said.  Wren rolled her eyes.

Dorian smirked at Cullen.

“You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory.  You’ll feel much better,” Dorian said.

“Really?” Cullen asked, moving his piece.  “Because I just won, and I feel fine.”

He leaned back and stretched, looking very pleased with himself.

Wren smothered the urge to say that she’d told Dorian so, a dozen times before.  

“Don’t get smug,” Dorian told Cullen.  “There will be no living with you.”

He got up, and Wren’s eyes practically danced with mirth as he passed her.  "You either," Dorian said as he bumped her shoulder.  She cleared her throat to cover a giggle.

“I should return to my duties as well,” Cullen said.  “Unless _you_ would care for a game.”

There was a challenge in his voice, one he was trying very poorly to mask, and Wren’s competitive instincts came to life with a fanged grin.

_Kick his ass, Trevelyan_ , the little voice in her head said.  She knew - knew - she was terrible at the game, but the idea was terribly appealing.

He gestured toward the board, and he looked so smug that Wren couldn’t help herself.

“Prepare the board, Commander,” she said, moving to take Dorian’s seat.

“As a child, I would play this with my sister,” Cullen said as he cleared the board and set it up again.  “She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won, which was all the time.”  He chuckled.

Wren sat down and leaned toward the table, watching Cullen grin at the memory.

“My brother and I practiced together for weeks.  The look on her face the day I finally won…”

Wren propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her folded hands.  He looked so relaxed, so pleased to be thinking of them.  She found herself smiling just watching him.

“Between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven’t seen them in years.  I wonder if she still plays…”

Cullen made his first move, then leaned back.

Wren looked at the board and tried to slip into the game.  It had been a while since she had played - years, really.  She had wasted hours in the back of the Chantry playing chess with Wolfson, but hadn't had time or the inclination to play while she’d been on the road.  

Her method could be called instinct, if one was generous.  Wren looked at the board, unfocused her gaze, and pictured the pieces as colors that made patterns based on their movement options.  She moved her pieces in the ways that made the new patterns feel the best, or look the nicest.  As for strategy or planning?  Well.  That was for players like Cullen.

Cullen was far more practiced, more logistic and considered.  He knew the rules, knew what to do and when.  Wren expected he would win, but she rather looked forward to watching him do it.  That stuck-up grin of his sister’s was clearly inherited, and clearly adorable.

_This is not going to help your crush, Trevelyan._

“You have siblings?” she asked.

“Two sisters and a brother,” he said.

Wren moved her piece and sat back.

“Where are they now?” she asked.

Cullen leaned forward over the board again, but he was paying more attention to Wren’s question than to the game.

“They moved to South Reach after the Blight.  I do not write to them as often as I should,” he said.

He looked back down at the board, then mused, “Ah.  It’s my turn.”

“It is,” Wren confirmed.  She leaned back and looked at the board, waiting for the pattern to shift.

“You should write them,” she said.  “Just think of the stories you could tell.   Maybe start with ‘Hello, I’m not dead’.”

Cullen chuckled.  

“Perhaps I should.  Do you have siblings?” Cullen asked.

“Yes,” Wren said.  “An older brother and an older sister.  I was a bit of an accident, years after they thought they were done with children.  Who knows, maybe I’m actually the baker’s daughter.  That would certainly please my father.”

Cullen chuckled, then moved his piece.  Ugh, that ruined the pattern entirely.

“My brother is set to inherit, so he’s still in Ostwick.  My sister was married off years ago,” Wren said.

She frowned.  How could she rescue the board?  Ah- wait.  That.

She moved her piece.

“Are you close to them?”  Cullen asked.

Wren laughed somewhat bitterly.

“No,” she said.  “I’m a tremendous disappointment.  They disowned me years ago.  If I contact them for any reason, I get very stern warnings from the family lawyer.”

“What?”  Cullen looked at her in surprise.  “Why would they- that’s ridiculous.”

“I’m a wasted investment,” Wren said, “and an embarrassment.  A shameful example of the family name, which, incidentally, they’d like me to keep quiet to whatever extent I can.  Trying to explain that to Josephine was interesting, let me tell you.”

Cullen moved his piece quickly and leaned back to look at Wren.  

She had a rueful little smile on her face as she stared at the board.

“You are none of those things,” Cullen said firmly.  

“It’s fine, Cullen,” she said.  “Just means I don’t have as many gifts to give on Satinalia.”

She moved a piece and then grinned up at Cullen.  “I’ve figured out something good for you, though, just you wait.”

“For me?” he said.  “You don’t have to-”

“Don’t ruin my fun, Curly,” Wren said.  “I have already put wheels in motion.”

“Satinalia isn’t for months yet,” he said.

“I know.  The present won’t be ready before then anyway.”

Cullen frowned in thought.  “What are you planning?” he asked.

“You are rubbish at Satinalia if you think I’m going to just tell you what you’re getting,” Wren chided.

He moved a piece, but kept frowning.

“I bet you were in the Chantry choir,” Wren said, diverting his attention.

“What?  I… yes,” Cullen said.  He looked up at her.  “Why?”

“I heard you, back after Haven, and I’ve caught you humming a time or two,” Wren said.  “You sound like you’ve had practice.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

Wren moved her piece.

“Don’t worry,” Wren said, “I won’t make you start singing for me.”

He smiled, and Wren’s heart skipped.

Cullen moved a piece.  Wren looked at the board without seeing it.  Making him smile was almost addicting, like closing a rift on a bad day.  It released something in her chest, making her feel pleasantly warm.

“Tell you what,” she said.  “Some day, I’ll sing something for you instead.”

“I heard you sing once,” Cullen confessed.  “The day you sang for Cole in the library.  Leliana and I were upstairs.”

“Oh!” Wren looked up at him.  He was blushing a little.  Why?   _Oh no, that’s very cute._

“That’s fine,” she reassured him.  “It wasn’t a secret meeting.  Solas heard me, too.”

“It was very nice,” Cullen said.

“Thank you,” Wren said.  “I’ll find a song for you that won’t scare you too badly, I promise.”

She winked at him, then turned her attention back to the board.

“Then… I’ll look forward to it,” Cullen said.

Wren observed the board thoughtfully, leaning over it and resting her chin on her hand.  Those were the moves available… hmm.

“This may be the longest we’ve gone without discussing the Inquisition,” Cullen said.  “Or related matters.”

Wren leaned back and looked at him speculatively.

“To be honest,” he said “I appreciate the distraction.”

He looked down at the board.  Wren’s attention was caught by the way his carefully managed hair was always just on the edge of nearly curling into madness, and her fingertips itched with the urge to reach out and just… ruffle him.

She sat on her hands.   _Behave yourself._

“We should spend more time together,” Wren suggested.  “I’ve been known to be pretty distracting.”   _That is not behaving yourself, Trevelyan._

Cullen’s gaze snapped up, and their eyes locked.  

“I would- like that,” he said, smiling, almost hesitant.

Wren’s pulse pounded in her neck and all she could think was _Maker’s breath, he is so beautiful.  I am so doomed._

She looked down at the board quickly, and saw the pattern.  There was only one move, and she made it.

“Me too,” she said, trying not to look back up at him.   _Ugh, Wren, you ridiculous-_

“You said that,” Cullen said, softly, as if reminding her, or convincing himself - Wren wasn’t sure which, and she doubted he was, either.

She lost the fight with herself, and looked back up.  He was looking at her, and his gaze was like a honey trap.  She couldn’t get out of it.  She didn’t want to try.

She bit her lower lip nervously.  His gaze dropped to her mouth.

“We should… finish our game,” Cullen said.  “Right.  My turn?”

“Yes,” she said quickly.

After Cullen had told her about his lyrium use - or rather, his lack thereof - it had been hard to be near him without thinking about it.  She had caved to the impulse to flee, taking to the road to burn out her panic with battle and travel.  Wasn’t that what she’d done for ten years?  Wasn’t that all she knew how to do?

On the road, she couldn’t think of him without seeing the memories behind her own eyes - the dagger in her hands, the shaky voice in her ears, the burn of the tears in her throat.  She’d had to come back, had to face him again.

Cullen moved his piece, but stayed leaned over the board thoughtfully.

In person, the pain had been sharp, but real.  If his voice hinted at pain at times, it was still his voice.  If his hands shook, they were still his hands.  He was still himself.  He still worked too hard, still trained, still did a thousand things that shouldn’t have been possible.  He was alive, and whole.

Alive, whole, and beating her soundly at chess.  Wren shook her head and moved a piece.  The pattern wasn’t nice, but it wasn’t terrible - she was close to losing.

Wren looked up at him sneakily, watching him think over his options.  She liked Cullen, more than she should.  Watching him so closely after his confession had only cemented him in her affections.  His dry sense of humor was sneaky, and often over the war table she had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.  He smiled with the scarred side of his mouth first, and something about that tugged at her, deep in her belly.  By rights the opposite ought to have been true - wouldn’t you avoid smiling on that side, while your face healed?  

She looked away when he caught her watching him, and pled silently, _if there’s a Maker, please don’t let me start blushing_.

He smirked, almost like he knew what she was thinking.  Wait, was she actually blushing?  This was the opposite of what she wanted.   _She_ was supposed to keep _him_ off-balance, not the other way around.

Her turn.  She looked at the board.  Ah!  That was a pretty picture, if she just moved the pawn to- yes.  She nodded, then moved her piece.  That should bring him the victory, but it'd end beautifully, which was all she really wanted.

Cullen looked at the board, moved his piece, then leaned back.

“I believe this one is yours,” he said with a slight grin.  “Well played.”

Wren shook herself out of her thoughts and blinked.  She looked at the board in confusion, then up at Cullen.

“We shall have to try again sometime,” he suggested.

Wren looked at him, then at the board, then up at him again.

Her mouth dropped open, just a bit.

“How did that happen?” she asked, utterly incredulous.   _That shouldn't have been possible._

“You’re a good player,” Cullen said.

“I’m… but… no.” Wren protested.  “There’s no way I won.”

Wren waved a hand at the board and made a little dismayed noise.  Cullen chuckled.

She looked down at the board again, then at Cullen.   _Did he just let me win?  Without me noticing?  Could he- would he do that?_

She squinted slightly at him.

Cullen just smiled.

Wren looked at the board and shook her head.

“Next time, then,” she said.

 


	15. Or, Battles Before Battles

Wren’s squeal could be heard across the grounds of Skyhold, ringing off the walls.

“No!  Put me down _put me down_ put me down-” she wailed, kicking and squirming and flailing.  Bull just chuckled and held her out farther away from his body.  

“Damn your stupid long arms!” Wren protested, trying and failing to reach him.

“You made the bet, now you have to pay up,” Bull said sensibly.

“I wasn’t supposed to lose!” Wren said.  “You cheated.”

“I didn’t cheat.  I tricked you into thinking I had, while Varric cheated.”

Wren twisted like a ribbon in the wind, but it was no use - Bull carried her over to the training grounds and set her down in the ring.

“Come on now,” he said.  “You lost.  Pay up.”

Wren sighed.

“Fine,” she said.  “Come on.”

“Excellent,” Bull said.

He stepped over the fence and flexed his hands.

“Please tell me we’re using weapons,” Wren said.  “I don’t want to shame myself as badly as I will if we’re just grappling.”

“Sure, boss.  Hand me an axe.”

Wren looked at the assemblage of greataxes along the wall and picked one that reminded her of Bull’s current weapon.  He gave it an experimental swing, then nodded.  

Wren walked over and picked up a pair of wooden training daggers, then tested them for weight and balance.  She swapped them out for others until she was satisfied, then nodded and walked back over to Bull.

She buckled on some borrowed armor and waited.

A crowd formed.  Wren trained with the troops on occasion, but carefully.  She gave advice, but rarely fought.  The men that traveled with her only saw the aftermath, and only rarely actual battles.  Though Wren hadn’t realized it, she’d created a mystery about herself, and now the forces were eager to have it solved.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Wren said.

Bull laughed.

“No, really, Bull.  Where’s the line?” Wren asked.

“Don’t actually kill me,” Bull said.  “But everything else is fair.  I want to be ready for this fortress.”

Wren nodded.  She shifted her weight, then dropped into a ready position.

Bull nodded, then grinned.  

“Come on, Little Bird.  Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said.

-

The shouts from the men were what finally drew Cullen and Blackwall from their discussion about the newest recruits.

The two men elbowed their way to the fence and stopped.

Bull was sweating, shining in the sun, a long tear down the side of his pants exposing a cut from his thigh to his calf.

Wren was a mess - covered in dirt, mud, and sweat.  She’d forgotten a helmet again, and a bruise was purpling across her cheekbone.  

Cullen watched, just as curious as the men were.

There were some patterns he identified quickly.  Wren would drop into stealth, Bull would track her, then lose her.  She’d pop up, pounding him with her fists in lieu of stabbing him, leaving increasingly dark bruises on the back of his neck and shoulders or on his ribs and back.  

Wren was vulnerable to pommel strikes, which she seemed to take as a matter of course rather than something to be avoided.  That was almost certainly the cause of the bruise on her face, though usually she managed to take the hits on her armored upper chest and shoulders. 

The problem, as Cullen saw it, was that both Bull and Wren were willing and almost eager to take hits in order to get in place to give back damage.  Bull was a better sponge than Wren, being larger and stronger, but Wren had the advantage of stealth and speed.

“On your left, Bull!” Cullen found himself shouting.

Bull dodged, just in time to avoid another strike from Wren.

“Thanks, Cullen!” he yelled.

“Come on, Birdy, don’t let him get away with that!” Blackwall shouted.

Wren ducked and rolled, then pounded Bull’s ribs again.

“Damn it!” Bull growled.

He swung and Wren had to retreat.  She backed up toward Cullen and Blackwall, breathing hard and fast.

She scrambled up the fence onto a post and dropped into stealth again.

“Oh no you don’t!” Bull said.

Everyone against the fence backed away.

Bull swung, clearing the tops of all the nearby rails.

She wasn’t there.

Bull spun, swinging around in a whirlwind to clear the ground behind him.

Nothing.

Then, like a feral cat Wren landed on Bull’s back.  She wrapped her left arm around the base of his left horn.  She slid her right arm around his neck and held her right dagger tight across his throat.

Wren growled.

Bull laughed.

“All right boss,” he said.  “You win.”

The shouts from the troops were nearly deafening.  Bull took a bow, nearly tipping Wren off him in the process.  The crowd began to disperse as Cullen started shooing them all back to work.

Wren leaned in closer to Bull’s ear.

“I didn’t think this part through,” she confessed.  “Usually you’d fall down dead by now.”

“If I did, I’d probably crush you,” Bull said.

“I’d jump off when I was closer to the ground.  I don’t want to hang off your head, Bull, but my balance isn’t going to hold.”

The Iron Bull took a knee, and Wren gratefully released him to drop to the ground.

“Ohhh, my poor everything,” Wren said, sitting down hard.  “I give up.  I’m never walking again.”

Bull stood up and turned around, looking down at the Inquisitor.  He laughed.

“You’re a mess boss,” he said.

“Hush you,” she said.

Bull bent down and helped Wren to her feet.

“I think we’ll be ready,” he said.

“We’re going to stop this mess,” Wren said.  “I know it.”

“Come on.  I’ll buy you a cider,” Bull said.

Wren looked down at her mud and dirt covered body, then shrugged.

“I’m always ready for that,” she said.

They headed off to the tavern.

 

* * *

 

Wren sat on Cullen’s bed, looking up at the hole in the ceiling.  It wasn’t directly over the bed, but it was close.  If it weren’t for the odd protection Skyhold had from the weather, the room would be unbearably cold.

“You’re the Commander of the forces,” she called down to Cullen.  “Why don’t you have a roof?”

“There are other places we need to use the resources,” he replied.

She heard him turn a page, then pause.

“Wait, when did you- what are you doing up there?” he asked.

“Admiring the tree growing through the ceiling.  It’s very nice, Commander,” Wren said.

“Inquisitor.”

“Commander.”

“Don’t you have something to do that isn’t mocking my sleeping quarters?”

“No.  Isn’t it cold, sleeping up here?”

“Yes.  That’s why I have blankets.”

“Commander.  This is just wrong.  You need a ceiling.  You need a floor.  If you don’t think the Inquisition has the resources, then I’ll pay for it.”

“Maker’s breath, no.  Why does this bother you?”

"It puts Josie out.  She says it makes us look shabby, like we can’t even afford to keep you in decent quarters.”

Wren hopped off the bed.

“Besides,” she said, “what if starry-eyed recruit crawled up here to seduce you and caught their death from exposure before you noticed?”

“What?  That wouldn’t- I don’t-”

Wren laughed.  “Are you saying I should put my clothes back on, Commander?”

Cullen dropped his papers entirely.

Wren peered over the edge of the floor hatch by the ladder.  Cullen was looking over at her, eyes wide.  “Don’t worry,” Wren said.  

She slid around and dropped down through the hatch, landing on the floor.  

“See?  Not a stitch out of order,” Wren said, smoothing her hands over her leathers.  “I am sending someone over to check on patching things up there, though.  See if I don’t.”

Cullen was red right up to his ears, and Wren found that terribly gratifying.

She winked at him before leaving his office.

 

* * *

 

“I still don’t know how she got up there,” Cullen said.

“I do,” Leliana said.  “I watched her do it.”

“You- and you felt no need to warn me?”

“What should I have done, Commander?  Sent a bird?”

“Yes!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Leliana said.

“If my roof was such a concern, you could have just told me,” Cullen said to Josephine.

“I did tell you.  You ignored me,” Josephine said.  “Fortunately, the Herald was far more receptive.”

“There were workmen in my room while I was running drills this morning,” Cullen said.  He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.

“I know,” Josephine said.  “Wren brought me the report.  Work will take place while you’re at Adamant.  When you return, you should have a floor, at the very least.”

 

* * *

 

A pair of hands came up to cover his eyes, and Cullen froze.  He caught a scent - warm leather, spiced cider, and something else...

“Wren,” he said, the thought escaping before he could wrap it in her title.

“Yes,” Wren said, sounding pleased.

Her hands were cool against his face.  He held back a sigh.  Maker, that felt good.  He hadn’t even noticed the headache brewing, but she was driving it away all the same.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Bothering you,” Wren said.  “It’s trickier now that you aren’t just out there all the time with the men.”

She slid her hands off his eyes and leaned on the back of his chair.

“We’re prepared to leave in the morning,” Cullen said.  “We will get you in to Adamant, Inquisitor.  You can be certain of that.”

“I trust you,” Wren said.  

She said it as if it were simple.  He wasn’t sure he deserved it, but he hoped he did.  He wouldn’t let her down.  He wouldn’t let the Inquisition down.  He would prove worthy of this.

The door across from the desk opened, and Cullen’s messenger strode into the room.

“Hello Cara,” Wren said.

“Hello Inquisitor,” Cara said.  “I have a message, Commander, from Seeker Cassandra.  She wants to know how you’re doing.”

“Fine.  I’m fine.  Tell her… ugh.”  Cullen rubbed the back of his neck.

“Tell her…?” Cara prompted.

“Tell her I’m watching him,” Wren said.  She leaned further over, peering over Cullen’s shoulder.

“You, Inquisitor?” Cara asked.

“Sure,” Wren said.  “She should be okay with that.  I’m fairly responsible.”

Cullen started to protest, but then shook his head.  “Yes,” he said.  “Fine, tell her that.”

“At your order,” Cara said.  She turned and left.

Wren stretched up on her toes.  Her lips were close to his ear.

“So, Commander, what do you have to do today?” she asked.

A shiver went down his spine, and he cleared his throat.

“Finalize the preparations for Adamant and sent out requisitions.  Inquisitor, you don’t have to-”

“Mmm, no,” she said.  “I see where this is going.  I just promised to watch you.”

“But surely you have more important things to do than sit here with me while I do paperwork,” Cullen protested.

“Hmm,” Wren hummed thoughtfully.  

Cullen couldn’t help it - he knew she did, but that traitorous voice in his head was hoping for-

“No,” she finally said.  “I don’t.  But I won’t get in your way, Commander.  Just pretend I’m not here.”

“Right,” Cullen said.  As if that were possible.  Any time she was around, he was aware of her.  The way she sounded.  The way she smelled.  The way she moved.  

He picked up the stack of reports again and tried to focus on them.  

How did she always manage to smell like spiced cider?  She was apples and oranges and cloves and warmth.  He closed his eyes a moment to clear his head.  

Wren walked away to look at his bookshelves.  She idly shifted her weight back and forth while she read the spines, humming to herself softly.  

Cullen kept sneaking glances over at her, watching her trace his books with her fingers.

She finally came to some conclusion, and took a book away to the corner of his office.  She sat on the floor in the corner and started to read.

Cullen suddenly regretted not having a second chair.   _Tonight_ , he thought.   _I’ll get one out of one of the towers we aren’t using, in case she comes back_.

 


	16. Or, Fortresses Rise and Fall

Wren had burned a thousand little moments into her mind since the day she’d tried to memorize Cullen’s face in the Chantry at Haven.

The way Bull laughed at the stories she told.  His patience when she tried to learn the things he shouted in Qunlat.

Sera, getting tipsy and making increasingly lewd suggestions about what the others were getting up to.  Sera, drawing pictures on Wren’s reports to make her laugh.

Sitting with Blackwall by the fire in the barn.  Drinking, telling tales, flirting outrageously.

Leaving kisses on Dorian’s shoulder, on his cheek, on his forehead.  Little words, ostentatious displays of affection, because it could never be enough.

Begging stories from Solas until he ran out of melancholy things to tell her.

Playing cards with Varric, listening to his stories, making faces at him until he laughed and shook his head.

Gossiping with Josie, whispers and giggles, linking arms when they walked across Skyhold.

Slipping secrets to Leliana, and getting smiles and secrets in return.

Talking about books with Cassandra until the Seeker forgot to be formal.

Vivienne scolding her but kindly, cold but warm.

Sitting with Cole, listening to the thoughts of the people of Skyhold.  Helping him help.  

_Cullen._  She could see his smirk over over the chess board, and it lanced through her like a dagger in her ribs.  

Wren released her blocking.  If she could close rifts, she could damn well open them.  

_ We are not dying here. _

Wren forced every bit of energy she had through her mark and down, as hard as she could.  She could hear something tear, then she heard a shriek.  Then, it was terrifyingly quiet.

Wren felt her feet touch down, and hoped she hadn’t broken the world.

 

* * *

 

It was like an odd flashback to Haven.  Cullen was in the wreckage with the men, directing operations, assigning tasks, but always alert.  He was looking for Wren to return, and deeply afraid she wouldn’t.  What right did he have to expect it?  There had been an archdemon dragon, countless demon summoning Wardens, and then she’d fallen through a rift into the Fade itself.  Surely this was not survivable.  

But… he’d thought that before, hadn’t he?  And he’d been wrong.  He had to think he was wrong again.  They - _she_ \- would come walking out at any moment.

He hoped for it so powerfully that when he saw them, he didn’t at first believe it.  There she was, helmet missing, gloves discarded with her arm slung over Blackwall’s shoulder.  She was favoring her right leg, and she looked exhausted.   

_ Wren. _

Cullen broke away from the men and walked toward her.

He could see Varric smirk.  Fine, let him.  Cullen didn’t care what the dwarf was going to write about this later.  The _fear_ when that rift had opened and swallowed them-

Wren saw him and let go of Blackwall.  She limped quickly forward, stumbling a bit when she reached Cullen.  He reached out and caught her arm, trying to support her without pulling her fully into his arms and holding her.  It was what he wanted to do, and that made it a very bad idea.

No.   _No._  Forget good ideas, forget bad ideas, forget all of it.  Cullen pulled her in close and held her.  Her arms wrapped around his waist and she grabbed his vest in her hands.  He closed his eyes and hung on.  He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against him, and Maker, knowing she was breathing was almost enough.

“You’re safe,” she said.  The relief in her voice mirrored his own state of mind, and he felt somehow better knowing it.

“Thank the Maker you made it out,” Cullen said.  “I- feared the worst, when you disappeared.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” Wren said.

She let go and he slid his hands to her waist.  She rested her hands on his arms and looked up at him.

“Are the men okay?” Wren asked.  “Were there many losses?”

“We lost fewer than expected,” Cullen said.  “Clearing the ramparts saved a lot of men.  The Wardens that came out earlier have been helping rescue the injured.”

“Good,” Wren said.  “That’s good.”

She looked around Cullen to the troops beyond.

“We lost Stroud,” Wren said.  “I told the Wardens that we would take them on, but we’ll need to keep them away from the Venatori.  Cassandra is angry with me for multiple reasons, but that’s a big one.”

“We’ll do whatever is necessary,” Cullen said.  “Cassandra will adjust.”

“You’re being awfully nice to me,” Wren said.  “Do I look like I’m about to die?”

Cullen shook his head and gave a short laugh.

“No,” he said, “but you scared me- us.”

“I scared me, too,” Wren said.  “I'm going to try not to think about any of it until after I badger a healer into taking care of this leg for me.  I don’t know what those spider things really were, but their bites hurt.”

Cullen’s arms tensed, and Wren looked at him through narrowed eyes.

“You may not,” she said, “carry me off to a healer’s tent.  I won’t have it.  The next time I get carried off anywhere it better be to a decent bed.”

Cullen’s mind filled with images of Wren’s bed at Skyhold - of his own bed at Skyhold - and he had to shake his head.

“Are you two done being adorable?” Hawke asked, walking up next to them.  “I'm taking a walk over to the healers, and I’m certain a fellow bird ought to head that way herself.”

“I’m never done being adorable,” Wren said.  “It’s part of the secret to my continued survival.”  

She squeezed Cullen’s arms, and he let her go.

“Thanks, Commander.  I needed that,” Wren said.  She smiled at him, then limped off with Hawke’s help.

Varric looked at Cullen and grinned.

“Not a word, dwarf,” Cullen said.

“You are going to be great for my career, Curly,” Varric said.

 

* * *

 

“Another.”

“Inquisitor.”

Cabot pushed the mug toward Wren, and she downed half of its contents before setting it back on the bar.

Wren folded her arms and set them on the wooden bar.  She put her head down on her arms.

“Wren.”

She felt a warm hand on her back.   _Smells like cedar, and wood smoke, and musky Orleasian soap-_

“Blackwall,” she said, not raising her head.

“Are you well, my lady?”

“I like Hawke,” Wren said.  She turned her head to the side and looked at Blackwall.  He sat on the stool next to her and watched her.

“She tells terrible jokes and makes the worst puns.  I can see why Varric loves her so much,” Wren said.  "She saved Kirkwall over and over and still keeps wanting to give more."

Wren wasn’t really looking at Blackwall now, just staring distantly in his direction.

“I had to stand there with her and Stroud, after we sent you all through.  They were both arguing about who should stay behind to fight so the other could escape, and I picked Stroud.  I liked him.  I knew there was something worth saving in the Wardens, and that they needed him, but I couldn’t do it.  I couldn’t let Hawke die.”

Wren reached over and tipped her mug, looking inside.  She sat up and drank the rest of the contents.

“I’m terrible at this job,” Wren said.  “Every day it’s something else.  I sobbed when Bull saved the Chargers.  He’s Tal-Vashoth now, and that’s partly because I begged him to blow the damn horn.”

“You did the right thing, little bird.”

“I hope so, because there was no way I could have chosen otherwise.  The Qunari can go hang.  The Chargers are our men,” Wren said fiercely.  

Wren laid her head back down.

“I make these impossible decisions,” she said, “and the worst part is when everyone feels the need to tell me their opinions about them.  I walked by at least four different groups of people today that were talking about how terrible it is that we took in the Wardens.  Well, I don’t see them coming up with a solution to the problem of ‘who’s going to save Orlais from the next Blight if we exile the Wardens’.”

“My lady.”

Wren looked at Blackwall.  He stood up next to her bar stool and opened his arms.

Wren sat up, then toppled over against Blackwall’s shoulder.  He put his arms around her and held her.

She sighed.

“You’ve never given me cause to doubt you, little bird.  I would walk into the Fade with you again if you asked.”

“Let’s never do that again, all the same.”

 


	17. Or, the Pain is in the Answers

“Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?” Wren asked.

Cullen looked up and over his shoulder.  “Pardon?” he asked, standing up and turning around.

“Kirkwall,” Wren said, leaning her shoulder against his bookcase.  “Did you leave anyone behind there?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.  “I fear I made few friends there, and my family is all in Ferelden.”

“South Reach now, right?” Wren said.

“Yes,” he said.  “I did write to my sister, by the way.”

“Did you?” Wren asked.  She beamed her approval.  “Is she well?”

“She is.  Well, and scolding me for not writing,” Cullen said, shifting his weight from side to side.

“That’s good!  Both that she’s well, and that she’s scolding you,” Wren said.  She grinned at him.  “Perhaps I should start writing her.  I’m certain she must know all kinds of stories about you.”

“ _Maker._  Please don’t,” Cullen said.  He looked a bit panicked at the very idea.  “Weren’t you asking me about Kirkwall?”

“Oh.  Yes, I was.  So you don’t have friends there?” Wren asked.

“No,” Cullen said.  “I left no one behind.”

“No one special caught your attention?” she asked, teasing.

Cullen looked at her and the corner of his mouth tipped up just a bit.  

“Not in _Kirkwall_ ,” he said.

Wren’s lips parted, but the words that she knew came next were gone.   _Was that flirting?  I think that was flirting._

“Why do you ask?” Cullen asked.

“I got a report,” Wren said, holding up a piece of paper.  “The Prince of Starkhaven wants to help rebuild Kirkwall.  He wants our help, or support, or something of the sort.”

“I can think of several ways we could assist,” Cullen said, nodding.

“I thought so.  Here,” she said, handing him the paper.  “The request.  Do what you think is best.  I trust you.  If you’ve any doubts, I’m sure Varric will be by later.  You can ask him about it.”

Her fingers brushed his as they handed the paper off, and a tingle skittered up her arm.

“All right,” Cullen said.

“There you go, agreeing with me again.” Wren said.  Her voice was teasing.  “What was it we said about that in Haven?”

“I believe we discussed you taking advantage of me,” Cullen said, “which you have yet to do.”

Wren drew her lower lip between her teeth.

Cullen watched the action and smirked.  The bastard _smirked._

_That was on purpose.  He is flirting with you.  This is not a drill._

“I’ll let you get back to work,” she said.  Cullen chuckled as she shamelessly fled the tower.

 

* * *

 

“Did you read Varric’s report?” Leliana asked.

Josephine nodded.  “I did,” she said.

“I haven’t.  What does it say?” Cullen asked.

Leliana held up the paper.

“Ruffles, Nightingale, and Curly,” Leliana read.  “You may want to plan on us arriving under cover of darkness tonight.  We played Diamondback last night and Birdy won an embarrassing number of times.  She currently owns and shows no sign of returning Tiny’s pants.  She also owns all of Hero’s sleeping clothes, but this should prove less troubling than Tiny walking into camp without his pants.  Qunari don’t wear smallclothes.”

“Andraste preserve us,” Cullen said.

“You may want to send someone with spare pants to meet us on the way here.  Otherwise, we’ll be camping out until we stand a good chance of not blinding anyone at the gates,” Leliana read.

“I think perhaps we should ask Master Aclassi if he could bring new pants to The Iron Bull,” Josephine said.  

“I’ll speak to him,” Cullen said.

It was a great relief to all three advisors when that evening, the party arrived at the gates completely clothed.

 

* * *

 

“Are you busy, Lady Josephine?” Wren asked, peering around the corner of the door.

“Hmm?  No more than usual, Lady Trevelyan,” Josie said.  “Is there a problem?”

“Could you meet me in the war room?”

“Now?”

“Yes, directly,” Wren said.

“Of course,” Josie said, frowning.  She picked up her papers and board and headed toward the door.

Wren followed her, carrying her lute behind her back.

When they were both in the empty war room, Josephine turned.

“What is the- oh!”

Wren pulled the lute around and adjusted the strap.  

“I didn’t realize you’d never heard me sing,” Wren said.  “That seems unfair.  Everyone else has had to suffer through it.”

Josephine set down her papers and board.

“Did Leliana speak to you?” Josie asked.

“She may have mentioned it in a report while we were away,” Wren said.

“I don’t want to take your time, Inquisitor,” Josie said.

“I have it to give,” Wren said.  “And you deserve it as much as anyone else.”

Wren adjusted the tuning on the instrument, then began to play.

“I hope you don’t mind that it’s a love song,” Wren said.  “The prettiest songs often are.”

“I don’t mind,” Josie said.

Wren hummed a moment, then began to sing.

“Sweet love, my heart is a wild fire - untamed flames burn through my soul.  Because you live my life’s inspired, deeper passions have ne’er been known.”

Josephine watched her with bright eyes and pressed a hand to her chest.

“But you’re a tapestry,” Wren sang, nodding toward Josie, “I, a common weave.  Royalty’s daughter, a cobbler’s son.  Cruel fate doth laugh as I weep my need for you.  Love, my love you’ll never know.”

Wren’s voice was warm and gentle, swelling with longing in the chorus.

“My heart is breaking, I cannot hold you.  The days are demons - the nights are cold.  Since I can’t reach you, seduce, entreat you, love without you must I grow old?”

Josie moved her hand up to press her fingers to her lips.

“My heart is breaking, I cannot hold you.  The days are demons - the nights are cold.  Since I can’t reach you, seduce, entreat you, love without you must I grow old?”

Wren hummed as she played the lute.  The war room door opened, and Leliana paused in the entry.  Behind her, Wren heard Cullen ask, “What?”

Leliana hushed him.

Wren sang slightly louder to compensate.

“My heart is breaking, I cannot hold you.  The days are demons - the nights are cold.  Since I can’t reach you, seduce, entreat you, love without you will I grow old?”

She picked the last notes of the song and Josie wiped her fingers across her cheeks.

“I don’t know what to say, Wren,” Josie said.  “That was lovely.”

“Not half as lovely as you, Josie,” Wren said.  She winked and slipped her lute around her back, then dipped in a curtsey.

Josie sniffled.

“Very nice,” Leliana said.  She walked in, with Cullen right behind her.

“I’m sorry I missed it,” Cullen said.

“You’ll get your own one day,” Wren said.  “I promised, didn’t I?”

“Oh- I-” Cullen cleared his throat.

“No getting out of it.  I have plans,” Wren said.

“You and your plans again,” Cullen said, squinting at her.  “I haven’t forgotten about your mysterious present plans, you know.”

“Are you courting our Commander, Inquisitor?” Leliana asked slyly.

“Do you suppose his family set aside a good dowry?” Wren asked.  “At least a cow.  We haven’t any of those here.”

“You _are_ joking,” Cullen said.

“You’re right.  Maybe a kitten.  It’d be hard to find room for a cow,” Wren said.

“A kitten!” Leliana protested.  “From a cow to a kitten, just like that?  You are a terrible negotiator, Inquisitor.”

“I agree.  You really must let me handle this,” Josephine said.

“I concede.  But Josie,” Wren said, “the important thing is that they let me have him.  Don’t scare them off.”

“Please tell me you’re joking,” Cullen said.

“Hush,” Leliana said.

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and walked to his place at the war table.

“Now then,” Wren said.  “About this odd business with the torches in the Graves.”

 

* * *

 

Two weeks in the Graves with Solas, Bull, and Cole and Wren was feeling better about life in general.  She hadn’t understood a word of what Solas and Bull talked about - something chess related - but they were getting along now and that was a tremendous relief.  Cole hadn’t asked any awkward questions, or at least no more than usual.  They’d figured out that odd thing with the torches and spoken to some Elven scholars.  Really, things were looking up.

Wren had pinned down the location of the last rogue on Cassandra’s Seeker list, and had decided to head back to Skyhold for restocking before she collected the Seeker and headed back out to take care of the man.  

Wren bathed.  She put on clean clothes.  She ate a sweet roll from the kitchen, and then she went to find Cassandra.

She took the long way, though.  If she went through Solas’ room and out that way, she’d have to cut through Cullen’s office, and she…

Well.  She wanted to see him.  Was that so wrong?   _Probably.  It probably was._

Wren opened Cullen’s office door.

“Oh!  Inquisitor!” the recruit inside said in surprise.  “The Commander isn’t here.  I think he went to see Seeker Cassandra.”

_Oh!  Well, that’ll be convenient._

Wren thanked the woman and left out the side door.

Halfway down the stairs, a ghost of a phrase trickled into her memory.

_I’ve asked Seeker Cassandra to watch me._

_Oh, Maker, no.  He’s fine.  Of course he’s fine.  I would… wouldn’t I have been told if he weren’t?_

She started to jog, though, as she hit the ground.

 

* * *

 

The box crashed into the door, and Wren flinched.

“Maker’s breath!  I didn’t hear you enter, I-”

The look on his face was one of defeat.

“Forgive me,” he said.

Wren pressed her hand to her chest.  She closed her fingers into a fist, as if she could hold her heart together that way.

“Talk to me,” she said.

Cullen started to walk toward her, then staggered.  He slammed his hand on the desk, catching himself.

Wren lurched toward him, but held herself back when he held up his other hand.  He shook his head.

She shut the door behind her.

“I never meant for this to interfere,” he said.

“Cullen-” Wren whispered.

“You asked what happened to Ferelden’s Circle,” he said.  He stood and started pacing, looking down at the desk, then back up at her.  “It was taken over by abominations.  The Templars - my friends - were slaughtered.”

He walked over to the slit window in the wall, pacing in front of that now, turning away from her.

“I was tortured.  They tried to break my mind, and I-”

He choked out a humorless laugh.  “How can you be the same person after that?” he asked.

Cullen stood with his back to her, and Wren was almost glad of it.  She wasn’t certain that the rage and horror on her face could have been cleaned up for him.  Tortured.  Maker’s breath, he had to have been so young.  How had he survived?

_Who let that happen to him?  Are they alive?  If they are, I want to kill them._

“Still, I wanted to serve.  They sent me to Kirkwall,” he said, bitterly.

He turned toward her, and she tried to clear her expression.  He didn’t look at her, though.  He kept turning back to the window, then out into the room, not able to be still.  If he was seeing anything, he didn’t show it.

His voice was angry, bitter.  “I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what, hmm?  Her fear of mages ended in madness.”

He sounded tired.

“Kirkwall’s Circle fell.  Innocent people died in the streets,” he said.

He turned and looked at her then, angry and exhausted.  “Can’t you see why I want nothing to do with that life?” he asked.

“Of course I can,” Wren said.  “I-”

“Don’t!  You should be questioning what I’ve done!” he said in a fury.  

He paced, unravelling in front of her.  He walked over near where Wren stood, near the book cases where she’d picked through his choices, where she often leaned when talking over reports with him late at night, when neither of them could sleep.

“I thought this would be better,” he said, pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly.  “That I would regain some control over my life, but these thoughts won’t leave me.”  His voice was almost a growl by the end of his thought.

“How many lives depend on our success?  I swore myself to this cause-”

He seemed to fracture.

“I will not give less to the Inquisition than I gave to the Chantry.  I should be taking it!”

He punched the bookcase, and his voice broke.  “I should be taking it.”

“ _No._ ”

Wren couldn’t stop the word from leaping out, rough and raw.  She cleared her throat and tried again.  

“No,” she said.  “This doesn’t have to be about the Inquisition.”

Wren stepped closer, looking him in the eye, forcing his attention.  His face was twisted in self-loathing and pain, and she hoped beyond any reasonable hope that she would have the right words.   _Maker, please._

“Is this what _you_ want?” she asked.

He exhaled, trying to pull himself together.  “No,” he said.

He dropped his fist away from the shelves.  

“But...these memories have always haunted me.  If they become worse, if I cannot endure this-”

Wren’s hand shot out before she could stop it.  She pressed it to his chest, and he looked at her.

“You can,” Wren said.

Cullen sighed.

“All right,” he said.

She looked at him.  Maker, how broken he looked, how tired.  It reminded her...

_Oh, my little bird.  Don’t let them take you._

Her fingers curled against his breastplate.

_I didn’t.  And they can’t have him, either.  No.  No._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Wren sings for Josie is "The Common Weave". While the video and I disagree on certain lyrics, this is indeed one of the versions I know best - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M67dQ1087zo


	18. Or, Perhaps

_Dear brother,_

_I really feel you should know about the letter we received today.  It was from the Inquisitor!_

Cullen tried to ignore the shiver of panic that crept over him.

_The Inquisitor wrote such nice things.  Listen!  “I must write and tell you how greatly we appreciate your brother and his service to the Inquisition.  There is no finer man than Cullen, and not a day passes in which I am not grateful to have him with us.”_

_Isn’t that lovely?  The letter also calls you a “gifted leader” and an “excellent and trusted friend”.  Rosalie cried at the end.  She wants me to tell you that she’s so very proud of you.  I’m glad to know you’re appreciated, dear brother.  (I’m proud of you, too.)_

_She also sent us a package of flower bulbs.  She said they’d be a surprise, and that she hoped they would remind us of you when we saw them.  Do you know what they are?  We can’t guess at all, and it’s so long to wait and find out!  I am going to try and force one inside, just to see._

Cullen set down the paper.

Wren had left at dawn the morning after his break.  It had been unavoidable - news had come in from Emprise late the night before about the demon Imshael stepping up his activities with the red Templars.  There was every sign that Michel de Chevin would not be able to protect Sahrnia alone, and Wren had left promptly in hopes of saving both the town and the disgraced chevalier.

“She said to tell you that you could have her sweet roll allowance,” Leliana had told Cullen when he’d made it to the war table.  

Cullen had cursed.  “I should have-”

“No,” Josephine had said.  “She was quite firm that no one was to disturb you.  I had to reassure quite a few runners that she would not punish them for bringing you messages today, in fact.”

Leliana had nodded.  “She was very upset that she wouldn’t be able to see you before they left,” Leliana had said, “but she knew time was short.  She wanted you to be told that she will be quite upset if you don’t take care of yourself while she’s not here to annoy you.”

Had she written to his sister before he'd thrown his lyrium chest at the wall and told her about the demons, about Kirkwall?  Had she written after, when she already knew?  How must she feel about him now?

Cullen reached for blank paper and a pen.

 

* * *

 

_Commander,_

_You are astonishingly bad with surprises, even when they aren’t for you!  If you must know, go ask Dorian.  He’ll know which ones I sent._

_Wren_

 

\---

 

“She sent your sister flowers?” Dorian asked, smiling smoothly as he closed his book.  “How charming!”

“She said you would know which ones she sent,” Cullen said, shifting his weight a bit awkwardly.

“Yes, of course.  It could really only be one thing.  You’d like to see them?” Dorian asked, standing up and setting his book on a shelf.

“Yes,” Cullen said. "Please."

Dorian grabbed a book off the shelf, then flipped pages.

“Here we are,” he said.  Dorian handed the book over to Cullen and pointed to a picture.

It was a small flower, dark red with a pale checkered pattern.  A single heavy bloom hung at the end of a thin stem, like a bell.

“Why these?” Cullen asked.

“Why, Commander, is it not obvious?” Dorian asked.  He pointed out details on the drawing.  “The pattern, like a chess board.  The color, which is quite like your fetching cloak and furs.  The stamens are gold, and I'm sure I needn't point that your hair is as well.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at Cullen.

“She has a patch of them growing in the garden,” Dorian said.  “They’re between the felandaris and the royal elfroot.”

“Thank you,” Cullen said.

 

* * *

 

“Word for you,” the scout said, handing Wren a packet of letters.

Wren groaned and accepted them, heading for her tent with reluctance drawn in every line of her shoulders.   

She peeled off her armor inside the tent, hanging it on the rack as she did.  If she waited, there wouldn’t be room in the tent to do this - she was bunking with Bull this time, and though he tried, he was just so blasted huge that moving around when they were both up was was nearly impossible.

Off with the layers, and on with Blackwall’s old sleep shirt.  She loved the thing - the whole Diamondback game had been so she could win it off of him.  Getting his pants and Bull’s pants had been a bonus, really.  

She sat on the center of her bed roll and sighed.  No point in putting it off.  What disasters were happening back in Skyhold?

Bull came in as she skimmed the first report.

“News, boss?” he asked.

“Mmm,” she agreed.  “My family is making noises about rescinding my disownment.”

“Makes sense,” Bull said, setting his axe in the corner.  “We’re a big deal.   _You’re_ a big deal.  Looks bad for them that you’ve been disowned, now that you’re leading an army of the faithful.”

“Especially with the Trevelyans being such loyal Andrasteans,” Wren said, making a face.

Bull unbuckled his armor and set it on the rack.

“Anything else?” Bull asked.

“Hmm.  Leliana thinks she’s tracked down the woman in charge of the mages, Calpurnia,” Wren said.

“The Venatori have been broken, but they shouldn’t be underestimated,” Bull said, nodding.  “If we can take her out of the picture, it would weaken Corypheus even more.”

“That’s the goal,” Wren said.

She changed pages.  

Bull watched a smile bloom across her face.

He waited.

She lingered over the text, reading it at least twice.  Bull caught a glimpse of the writing - the elegant, practiced hand that marked a letter from Dorian.

“How is Dorian?” Bull asked.

“Good!  He’s good,” Wren said, obviously pleased.  “He got the shipment of books I sent.  He’s acting like going through them all will be a trial, but I know he’s pleased.  He also helped the Commander find some information the other day, and he wanted to let me know about that.”

“Cullen feeling better?” Bull asked.

“I think so,” Wren said.  “Leliana mentioned that he’s doing well.”

“When did he quit the lyrium?” Bull asked.

Wren set down the papers.

“I’m not going to ask how you know,” Wren said.  “It’s probably some crazy Ben Hassrath thing that will make me question my own weak powers of observation.”

“Probably,” Bull said.

Wren took the last page and folded it up, putting it in her bag.  The others she tossed toward Bull’s bed roll.

“He quit when he joined the Inquisition,” Wren said.  “I guess that makes it… Maker, at least a year and a half ago.  Longer than I thought.”

“He’s doing well,” Bull said.  “He’s probably through the worst of the physical crap now.”

“In training they tell you that if you quit you’ll have crippling pain, flashbacks, nightmares, headaches...” Wren said, “and that you’ll die, of course.  A miserable, agonizing death.”

“Seems your Order was wrong about the death thing,” Bull said.

“They’ve been wrong about a lot of things,” Wren said wryly.  “At this point it’s most noteworthy when they were right.”

“Didn’t he sail across the Waking Sea with Cassandra and Varric right after he joined up?”

“Oh Maker, he did.  No wonder Varric says Cullen was a terrible sailor,” Wren said, shaking her head.  

She flopped back onto her bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I wonder if he’d be as seasick now as he was then,” she mused.  “Or if he’d always be seasick, and the withdrawal made it worse.”

“I doubt he’ll be eager to test the theory for you,” Bull said.

Wren grinned.  “I could get him to do it with good enough cause.”

“Invading the Free Marches?”

“Ha!  No.  Then I would have to get on a ship, and I’d really rather not do that again.  I hated sailing, locked down in steerage, always moving, all those rats…”

She shuddered.

Bull picked up her reports and started reading them.

“What’s this about ‘altering the sweet rolls’?” Bull asked.

Wren chuckled.

“I said that Cullen could have my sweet roll allowance while we’re away,” Wren said.  “Just being silly, really, but the cook heard and has been taking me seriously.  He gets a sweet roll with tea every morning now.  But I had this… idea.”

Bull looked at her over the paper.

Wren sat up.

“What if the roll was a little different every time?  What if we added caramel?  He likes caramel, Josie said so.  Or what if we switched the honey on top for syrup?  Or what if we added fruit?  I came up with a bunch of ideas and wrote them on the back of my last letter to Josie.  She said she’d talk to the cook and see what they could do.”

Bull looked thoughtful.

“Chocolate,” he finally said.

“What?”

“Chocolate.  You need to add chocolate.  Here, I’ll write it down.”

 

* * *

 

“A letter for you, Commander.”

“Thank you, Cara.”

Cullen looked up from the sweet roll on his desk - why was it blue? - then accepted the packet from Cara.

Ah- it was from Wren. He smiled at the page.

_Commander,_

_We took Suledin Keep.  I’m sure Varric’s report about it was very dramatic.  I didn’t read it, but I hope he mentioned the giants infested with red lyrium.  Those were… terrible._

_Imshael offered me virgins.  Who in their right mind tries to tempt someone with sex by offering them people who explicitly know nothing about the subject?  He was an idiot, and now he’s dead._

_I’m sending you Michel de Chevin.  He is not an idiot, and also not dead._

_Josie is sending me someone to run the keep - Edouard Desjardins.  She warned me that he’ll likely offer me one of his sons.  Maker save me from nobles.  I am not a breeding sow.  I hope Josie can keep me disowned._

_We found a red templar dying of wounds we didn’t inflict.  He told us that Imshael had promised to “take the red out” of them, but that the price the demon asked was one the templars couldn’t pay.  What was he asking them?  Could Imshael really have saved them?  I suppose it doesn’t matter._

_It’s been months since we left Skyhold.  Emprise is cold and damp.  The red lyrium hums in a sick song that you can’t escape.  We’re leaving in the morning.  Edouard can’t offer me a husband if I’m not here to listen._

_Eat it.  It’s blueberry and lemon.  It won’t kill you._

_Wren_

 

* * *

 

Wren returned from Emprise du Lion a few weeks later with plans for a bridge, a bruise on her cheek, and a split lip.  

The first thing she did after handing the reins of her horse to Blackwall was run to her room and strip off everything she wore.  Wren allowed herself a moment to be gloriously, blissfully comfortable, then scrubbed herself down, put on clean gear, and headed to the war room.

“No Commander today?” she asked, looking at Josie and Leliana.

“He’s out on the battlements,” Leliana said.  “He generally goes for a walk around this time.”

“That’s new,” Wren mused.

“It is.  He seems to have been nagged quite fiercely by to take better care of himself,” Leliana said.

Wren beamed.

“He listened!” she said.  “I’m very pleased.”

“He’ll want to speak with you,” Josie said.  “If you go find him, you can fetch him back with you.”

“I can do that,” Wren said.

She headed out, cutting through the rotunda to reach the battlements.  It wasn’t hard to spot the Commander - she could pick him from a crowd with no trouble, and here he was alone on the wall.

She headed over, cutting through his empty office and out to where he stood, staring off toward the mountains.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said as she walked toward him.  “When you came to see me… if there’s anything…”

He shifted awkwardly and put a hand on the back of his neck as he turned to face her.  He cast his eyes up and sighed.

“This sounded much better in my head,” he confessed.

Wren beamed at him and walked over.  She stepped close, then hugged him around the waist.  He paused, then put his arms around her.  

It was a quick thing, but it seemed to settle them both.

“My whole life is that way,” Wren said, stepping away again.  “I trust you’re feeling better?”

“I… yes,” Cullen said.

He looked down at her and frowned slightly.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

“Demons,” Wren said with a shrug.

Cullen reached out, brushing her hair away from her face.  He shook his head.

“I’m glad you’re feeling better.  Is it always that bad?” she asked.

“The pain comes and goes,” Cullen said.  “Sometimes I feel as if I’m back there.  I should not have pushed myself so far that day.”

He looked away, and Wren studied his face while he wasn’t watching.  He did look better - less tense.  More like himself.  

“I’m just glad you’re all right,” Wren said.

Cullen smiled.  “I am,” he said, turning to face the mountains again.

Wren leaned back, resting her hip against the wall.  He seemed relaxed, and it felt good to see him that way.

“I’ve never told anyone what truly happened to me at Ferelden’s Circle,” Cullen said.  “I was… not myself after that.  For years, that anger blinded me.  I’m not proud of the man that made me.  Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened.  It’s a start.”

Wren reached out and put her hand on Cullen’s arm.

“For what it’s worth,” she said, “I like who you are now.”

Cullen turned away from the wall and looked at her almost hesitantly.

“Even after…?” he said.

“Cullen.”

She said his name as if she were half-chiding him, but the affection behind it was obvious.

“I care about you,” Wren said. “You’ve done nothing to change that.”

The way he looked at her... she couldn’t read it.  A tiny smile, grateful and almost hopeful.  It made her heart twinge.

Wren looked away, then reached down and slipped her hand into his.

He looked down at their hands, then at her.  He smiled, and squeezed her hand.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.  “Things haven’t been easy for you, either.”

She paused, then looked out at the horizon.

“I’ve met all kinds of people,” Wren said.  “Good friends, in the strangest places, in the strangest people.  I’m lucky.  It helps.”

Cullen chuckled.  “You do keep interesting company.  I suppose I do now, as well.”

“You sometimes seem like you’re holding yourself off from us,” Wren said.  “And I understand it, but you should know, Cullen - any of us would stand up for you.  You’re never as far away as you feel.”

“I… thank you, Wren.”

She looked over at him, a quick, darting look, then squeezed his hand.  She let him ago again, then gestured toward the main keep.

"Come on," she said.  "You can escort me to the war table, so I can tell everyone how awful Emprise was."

Cullen chuckled.  "Of course, Inquisitor," he said.

They walked back together.  

For the first time in months, she drew and released a easy breath.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Wren sent a Thedosian version of fritillary, or snakes-head flowers. In Thedas, they're wildflowers, native to the Free Marches.
> 
> http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fritillaria_meleagris


	19. Or, Getting a Head

Wren trudged into the war room, her eyes barely open as she drifted over to the war table.

She wasn’t even dressed for the day.  She was barefoot, wearing the pants she’d won from Blackwall, her undershirt, and a wrap shirt she hadn’t bothered to wrap or tie.  Her hair had been twisted into knots before bed, and now it was tousled and untidy.  A leather cord hung around her neck and disappeared under her undershirt.

She looked adorable, in Cullen’s estimation.  Even with her hair stuck out of her balled up pigtails and a cross look on her sleepy face, he was utterly charmed.

At this point, he could admit to himself that she could charm him just by breathing.

“Are you certain you’re awake?” Leliana asked.

“No,” Wren said.  “This could easily be another dream that I’ll wake from in a few minutes.  I refuse to get dressed until I’m sure this time is real.”

She squinted as she looked around the room.  Her eyes hung on Cullen a moment before continuing.

“Though this seems more likely to be real this time.  You’re all here,” she said.

“Where were we last time?” Cullen asked.

“Well, _you_ were here,” Wren said.  “I don’t know where Leliana and Josie were.”

“What was the Commander doing in here?” Leliana asked.

“Muttering about calibrating trebuchets,” Wren said, shrugging.  A faint flush colored her cheeks after a moment.  

“That does sound like him,” Josie said.

“It’s an important job,” Cullen said defensively.

“Anyway, I’m pretty sure I’m awake now,” Wren said.  She looked down at herself, then wrapped and tied her shirt.  “Tell me about Halamshiral.”

“We have two months to prepare,” Josie said.  “How much do you know about the Game?”

“Enough to know that I don’t know enough,” Wren said.  “Maybe if I had been brought up with the Trevelyans I would know more about courtly intrigues, but Templars aren’t much for dancing and carrying on.  I can recite the Chant of Light backwards, but I’ll probably get us killed if you leave me alone with a dignitary.”

“We’ll need to do something about that,” Leliana said.  “Regular meetings, I think, before we leave.”

“We also need to arrange time for fittings,” Josie said.

“Please tell me I won’t have to wear one of those Orlesian full torso corsets,” Wren said.

“No,” Leliana said, “it is more important that we present a united front.  Everyone will have matching suits.”

Josephine sighed.

“Do you not like them, Josie?” Wren asked.

“I was so looking forward to dressing up,” Josie confessed.  “And to seeing everyone else in their finery.”

“After we save the world, you and Dorian can throw a party,” Wren said.  “Next year, maybe.  Then you can dress as fancy as you please.”

Cullen shook his head.  “Please tell me attendance will not be mandatory,” he said.

“I’m sure it won’t be so bad,” Wren said.  “You’ll only have to stay long enough to be seen a bit, and then you can run away.  I’ll slip you the key to my room, and you can hide up there.  I have books and a desk, you’ll never know you’re not in your office.”

“Of course he’ll know,” Josephine said, gently teasing.  “Your room has a fireplace.  He might not freeze while he reads.”

“I never thought- but you don't have a fire in there at all, do you?  Really, Cullen, you must be far too cold.  We still haven’t fixed the roof,” Wren chided.

“It’s fine,” Cullen said.

Wren shook her head.

“Madame Vivienne will want to speak with you,” Leliana said.  “She has rather strong opinions about our presentation at Halamshiral.”

“That’s not a surprise,” Wren said.  “Last time we were in Val Royeaux she went on for some time about the Winter Palace.”

“Do you often go to Val Royeaux with Madame de Fer?” Josephine asked.

“Mmm,” Wren agreed.  “I make time when I can.  She took me to her dressmakers last time we were in.  I’d rather be left in the Fallow Mire alone for a week than do that again.”

Wren made a face.  “And yet,” she said, “I’ve already agreed to go back this week.  In exchange, she agreed to go with me to the Hinterlands.”

“What are you doing in the Hinterlands?” Leliana asked.

Wren’s eyes lit up.

“I think it’s finally time to deal with that dragon,” she said.

“Please be careful,” Josephine protested.

“I’m certain they’ll be fine,” Leliana said.  “When do you leave?”

“Today,” Wren said.  

Josephine pressed her hand to her chest.  “At least it will be over before I have a chance to fret overmuch.”

 

* * *

 

“Ser!” a scout opened the tower door and peered in at the Commander.  “You should see- the Inquisitor has returned.”

Cullen looked up.  Wren usually sent a bird ahead to let them know when she was coming.  It had only been a week.  As there’d been no word, he hadn’t even thought to look for the party to return.

Cullen stood and followed the scout out onto the battlements.

Wren was sitting in the middle of the lower courtyard astride a massive dragon’s skull.  It was a terrifying thing, burned clean of flesh and showing a full complement of massive teeth.  Bull was showing it off, his face lit up with absolute joy.

“Cullen!” Bull shouted up.  “Come look at this beautiful thing!”

Wren turned and watched Cullen walk across the battlements and down the steps.  Her face was lit up with pride and pleasure.  

She practically glowed, caught in the light, her brilliant dragonling leathers glossy and red against the strange gold of the skull.  Wren’s hair was nearly like that gold in the places where the sun had bleached it.   It had been more red, back in Haven, Cullen remembered.

Cullen walked over and Bull clapped him soundly on the back.

“Look at it!” Bull said.  “You should have seen the fight, Cullen.  It nearly killed us all seven times.”  He laughed.  “Had to duck the boss in the sea to get all the blood off her or they’d never have let us back in the gates!”

Wren grinned.  “We had to scrub Sera for half an hour!”

“Worth it!” Sera declared.

“Honestly,” Vivienne said, shaking her head and walking past the rest of them to head for the main hall.  She was, of course, spotless.

“I’m gonna tell Beardy about it,” Sera declared.  She grabbed the reins of two of the horses and headed off toward the stables.

“Hey, Krem!” Bull shouted, heading toward the tavern.

Cullen walked over to the edge of the skull.

“Did you ride on this the whole way?” he asked.

“Just across the bridge,” Wren said.  “It isn’t tremendously comfortable.”

She slid down the front of the skull and landed in front of Cullen.  He reached out to help her balance, and she grabbed his arms.  She leaned forward and grinned up at him.

“We killed this thing,” she said.  “It was hunting the refugees and we killed it and then a nice lady gave us cake and then she had sex with Iron Bull.”

Cullen chuckled.  

Wren giggled.

“Come on,” she said, tugging on his arm.  “Buy me a cider so I can tell you all about it.”

Cullen thought about the pile of reports on his desk.

“I suppose you’ve earned at least a cider,” he said.

She smiled at him like he’d just offered her all of Thedas on a platter.  He felt his heart flip, and smiled back at her in an awkward, lopsided way.

 

* * *

 

Wren and Sera lounged on the window seat in Sera’s room, eating biscuits stolen from the kitchen.

“Pass the jam,” Sera demanded.  

Wren handed over the jar, utterly distracted by whatever was going on outside.  Sera took the jam, then looked out the window to see what had caught Wren’s attention.

It was just one of the mixed squads, mages and Templars trained to fight together.  Nothing special, but - ah.  The Commander was out there.

“You fancy the Commander,” Sera teased, shoving her elbow into Wren’s ribs.  

“You fancy… your butt,” Wren returned lamely, barely paying attention.

“My butt?” Sera asked.  She tilted her head and squinted at the Inquisitor.

“Shh.  I love this block,” Wren said.

Sera peered out the window again.  Cullen, his vest and mantle shed, was demonstrating some technique or another.  He was sweaty and half glowing in the sun.

Wren was watching him with absolutely rapt attention.  When he lunged, she bit her lower lip.

Sera covered her mouth, then fell over giggling.

“You do!  You DO fancy him!” she said.

“Hush.”

Sera opened the window and leaned out.

“Hey, Commander Templar-pants!  Guess what?” Sera yelled.

Wren squawked and grabbed for her, wrapping her hand around Sera’s ankle and pulling her back.  Sera cackled with laughter and grabbed the window frame.

“No!” Wren yelped.  “Sera, no, it’s not funny!”

“Are you kidding?  It’s flipping hilarious, it is!” Sera laughed.

Wren grabbed Sera around the other ankle and yanked her backward.  The elf kept laughing, pulling back against the window frames.  

“I’m gonna tell him,” Sera said.  “It’s too good!”

“I will spread jam on all your smallclothes,” Wren threatened.  “I’ll drink all your wine.  I’ll-”

Behind Wren, someone cleared their throat.  Wren let go of Sera immediately.

Sera squealed as she fell out the window onto the roof.  Wren leapt to catch hold of the girl again, pulling her back inside again.  They fell into a pile onto the floor between the table and the bench.

Wren looked up.

Wolfson just stood there shaking his head.

“The Commander would like to know if you needed something, or if you were just interrupting the drills for fun,” Wolfson said.

“The second one,” Wren said firmly, looking at Sera, then at the pot of jam with a meaningful glower.

“Yeah, all right, the second one,” Sera said, resigned.

Wren sagged with relief as Wolfson shrugged and left.  Sera clambered off Wren’s lap to sit next to her, throwing her legs over Wren’s as if the Herald were a bit of furniture.

“What’s the problem, Birdy?” Sera asked.  “It’s just a bit of fun.  So you fancy Cullen.  Half the tavern does.”

Wren rolled her eyes.

“He looks at you,” Sera said.

“Of course he does.  Otherwise he’d be pretty rude,” Wren said.

“No, he looks at you, like you’re some shiny thing he can’t have,” Sera said impatiently.  “He fancies you.  That’s why its funny.  You flirt with him all the time, you great tit, what’s the problem?”

“You should see her get flustered when he flirts with her,” Wolfson said.

Wren whirled and pointed at him.  “You!” she protested.  “You were meant to be gone!”

“Does he?  I wanna see that,” Sera said, delighted.

“You’re both bastards,” Wren said.

“It’s great,” Wolfson said, ignoring Wren.  “The other day there was like a silent play going on.  Her nibs was sitting there in Cullen’s office reading reports, and the Commander was on the other side of the room standing behind his desk.  She kept sneaking looks at him over the reports, when she thought he wasn’t looking, and then he caught her at it and did one of these.”

Wolfson gave Sera a knowing look, as if he’d caught her at doing something naughty and approved of it.

Sera cackled.

“What did she do?” Sera asked.

“I’m right here,” Wren said.

“She turned pink and hid behind her papers,” Wolfson said.  

Wren groaned and covered her face with her hands.

“It was revenge,” Wren said.  “For three days before that when we were in the war room and I caught him playing with the markers.  He got all flustered and I might have teased him about it a bit on the way out of the room.”

“Teased him how?” Wolfson asked.

Wren looked away when she admitted, “I told him that I could think of better things for him to play with than that.  When he stumbled I pretended I’d meant chess.”

Wolfson laughed.

“I didn’t realize when I started flirting with him at Haven that it would stop being a joke at some point!” Wren protested.  

She paused.

“That was more than I meant to admit,” Wren said ruefully.

Sera and Wolfson both looked at her with near identical gleeful expressions.

“And to think I was going to invite those Qunari mercenaries to Skyhold for you,” Wren said, looking at Sera.

“What?” Sera said, sitting upright.

“The Valo-kas mercenary company,” Wren said.  “They’re an Orlesian group.  Their leader wrote us asking for help finding some of his team that were lost after the Conclave.  We rescued them, and the company is offering its services to the Inquisition as payment.”

Wren leaned back.

“Buuuut, if you aren’t interested in meeting them, then…”

Sera looked at Wolfson and waved her hands at him.

“Get lost!” she said.  “Before you ruin this for me!”

Wolfson chuckled and left.

“Tell me more about these Qunari,” Sera said.


	20. Or, Questions With Answers

Wren kept in good spirits at first.  She was patient, if not particularly joyful, about the hours of preparations.  She behaved nicely during the suit fittings.  She practiced diligently so as to not fail anyone at the Game.  

Things started to fall apart one month out when she was restricted to Skyhold.  There wasn’t time for her to go out and be back before they would have to leave for Halamshiral, and that meant she was available for anyone that needed her.  This would normally have been more than fine with her - Wren loved being able to spend time with her strange little family - but instead of having time to play chess with Cullen or read with Dorian she was trapped in an endless cycle of meetings with Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne.  

All of them were well-meaning, but Wren was starting to develop a twitch at the sound of her title.  It never ended.  Josephine wanted to teach her to dance.  Leliana quizzed her on nobility.  Vivienne went over etiquette and propriety and fashion.

Wren started thinking very seriously about throwing herself off the highest point she could reach in the hopes that the landing would kill her.

It was late in the evening when she escaped yet another interminable conversation with Vivienne and she fled the rotunda shamelessly.  Solas was already asleep, so she didn’t have to feel guilty about cutting through his room to get outside.

The walkway really only went to Cullen’s office, but lights flickered through the crack around the door - he was still awake.

Wren walked up and knocked, then opened the door.

Cullen looked up from the papers on his desk.

“Inquisitor?” he asked.

“Commander,” she said.

She crossed the room in long strides and stopped at the edge of his desk.  

“Tell me something that doesn’t have a single thing to do with Orlais,” Wren said.  The tone in her voice was somewhat desperate, and she did not care.

“Er… I believe Cole relocated an entire wheel of cheese, but I can’t find him to ask about it,” Cullen said, though the statement was spoken as if it were a question.

Wren sighed in obvious relief, and she smiled.

“Thank you,” she said.

“That bad?” he asked.

“Worse,” Wren declared.  “You can’t imagine.  I think Vivienne has been saving all her comments about my face for just this occasion.”

“What about your face?” Cullen asked, sounding slightly defensive.

Wren leaned up off the desk and paced, ticking off the sins on her fingers.

“My hair is too pale for my skin.  I look too young without makeup and she cannot find a method of making me up that satisfies her.  My freckles are too sparse to be a feature and too much trouble to cover.”

Wren turned and looked at Cullen.  “She wants me to save her an hour before the ball so she can ‘fix me’.  An _hour_.  If we don’t leave this blighted event with a full Orlesian alliance, I am going to _burn the Winter Palace to the ground_ , see if I don’t.”

Cullen set down his papers.

“Vivienne,” he said, “is a madwoman.”

“That’s what I said! An hour!”

Wren threw her hands in the air.  

“She’s a madwoman,” Cullen specified, “because there’s nothing wrong with your face.”  He paused.  “I don’t mean to imply- there’s nothing wrong with you at all.”  He shifted his weight awkwardly.

Wren walked over and moved the papers off a section of his desk, then hoisted herself onto the surface.  

“Oh, there’s loads wrong with me,” she said, “but thank you.”

She leaned over toward him, putting her hands on the edge of the desk.

“They’re not making _you_ learn to dance, are they?”

“Maker, no,” Cullen said, looking faintly horrified at the idea.

“Lucky sod,” Wren said, making a face.  “It’s not that all dancing is terrible, but this dancing is.  Move one finger too far to the left and suddenly you’re insulting someone’s mother.”

The door opened, and Cara entered the room.

“Commander-”

Cara stopped short.

“Oh!  Inquisitor!  I believe lady Montilyet is looking for you,” Cara said.

Wren dropped her head.  “Can you pretend you never saw me?” she asked.

“Is that what you want me to do, your Worship?” Cara asked.

“Will you get in trouble for it?”

“Ah- I hope not, ma’am.”

“I’ll go see her before bed,” Wren said.  “I don’t want to risk it.”

“As you wish, my lady.  Commander, I have a message from Knight-Captain Rylen.  He sends word that he will arrive in Skyhold tomorrow.”

“Excellent,” Cullen said.  “Thank you.”

Cara nodded and left the tower.

“Rylen is coming here?” Wren asked, looking back up at Cullen.

“Yes,” Cullen said.  “He’ll be in charge of the forces while we’re all at the Winter Palace.”

“Oh, good.  I wanted to talk to him about the dragon out there.  Frederic sent word that he’s ready for us to draw her out,” Wren said.  

“Enjoying the dragon hunting?” Cullen asked.

“Mmm,” Wren agreed.  She tilted her head and looked at him, then reached out and made a grasping gesture toward him.

“C’mere,” she requested.  “Your fur is all tangled.”

“Where?” Cullen asked, trying to look.

“Just come here,” Wren said.  “I’ll fix it.  You can’t see it while it’s on you.”

He walked over in front of her, and she sat up straight, running her fingers through the heavy fur of the mantle.  She picked out the tangles carefully.

“Guess what I heard?” she said companionably while she worked.  “Hawke was intercepted on the way to Weisshaupt.”

“Varric did mention something like that,” Cullen said.  He couldn’t watch her hands, so he watched her face.  She was biting her lower lip in thought, focused on her task.  

“Fenris found her when she hit Tevinter,” Wren said, wiggling her fingers through the strands.  She leaned forward to reach another knot.

“How does this even happen?” she asked.  “It’s not like you’re rolling around on the ground all the time.”

“I don’t know,” Cullen said.  “I do keep up with it, but not every day.”

She hummed in assent.  

“How did you get that scar?” he asked.

“Which?” Wren asked, still distracted by her work.

“On your cheek - here,” Cullen said, reaching up and running the pad of his thumb over the mark in question - an angled, mostly vertical silvery scar on her cheekbone below the outside corner of her left eye.

She froze at the contact, then looked over at him.  

“It was during a caravan job.  My friend Livia and I were escorting a wagon and darkspawn attacked.  I took a hit for one of the members of the wagon party.  Told them not to move, but they never listen.  It bled like you wouldn’t believe.  Ah- actually, I suppose you would,” she said, looking at the scar that cut through Cullen’s lip.

Her gaze got caught there, tracing the lines of the jagged cut.  

Cullen cleared his throat, and Wren’s eyes shot up again to meet his.

“Sorry,” she said.  “I-”

Wren couldn’t think of how she’d meant to end the sentence.  

 _Tell him that the flirting stopped being a joke months ago_ , her traitorous brain whispered.   _Tell him that he needs to outright reject you or you’re only going to get more hopelessly obvious until everyone at Skyhold is laughing at you._

But she couldn’t, and the moment was spinning out, thinner and thinner.  

A knock on the door broke the spell.

Cullen stepped back, and Wren dropped off the desk quickly.  She walked over to the bookshelf and stared unseeing at the repaired crack.

“Yes?” Cullen called, his voice a bit rough.

The door opened.

“Commander,” Josephine said, “Is the Inquisitor- ah!”

Josephine spotted Wren and beamed.  “You are still here!  I was afraid you had gone to bed,” Josie said.

“Never,” Wren said.  “I was just about to come see you.  I’ll walk back with you, Josie.  Give me a minute?”

“Of course,” Josephine said.  “I’ll wait outside.  Good night, Commander.”

“Good night, Ambassador,” Cullen said.

Josie smiled and left, closing the door behind her.  

Wren turned and looked at Cullen.  She bit her lip, then sighed.

“Thank you,” she said.  “This was nice.”

“Ah- any time, Inquisitor,” Cullen said.

Wren nodded awkwardly, then walked over and opened the door.

“Let’s do this, Josie,” Wren said.  Josephine threaded her arm around Wren’s and smiled.

“I wanted to talk to you about the Lady Mantillion…” Josie said as she led Wren away.

Wren closed the door behind her.

Cullen closed his eyes.

Maker, this was a kind of madness.  Every day it became more difficult to not blurt out what he was feeling.  He thought about it all the time - what he’d say to her, if the time was ever right.  Wanting her was as constant as breathing, but how could he tell her so?

What would he say if she called him on the flirting?  Confess?  Deny?  No, not deny.  He couldn’t deny it, because they both knew it happened.  It just… wasn’t possible, was it?  That she felt the things he did, that she wanted him the same way.  He was just a broken soldier, and she was the Inquisitor.

Cullen shook his head and opened his eyes.

 

* * *

 

“A package has arrived for you, Inquisitor,” the scout announced.

Wren looked up from the war table.

“Is it something nice?” she asked.

“I… couldn’t say, my lady,” the scout said.

“Who is it from?” Leliana asked.

“A Ser Hanson Beckwith of Ostwick,” the scout said.

Wren paused, then frowned in confusion.

“The package is in your room, my lady.  Would you like the letter that came with it?” the scout asked.

“Yes, please,” Wren said.

The scout handed over an envelope, then bowed and left.

“Beckwith was in charge of the Chantry where you trained, yes?” Leliana asked.

“Yes,” Wren confirmed.  “This is awfully late for a ‘you left the Chantry and we’re annoyed’ letter.”

Wren pulled a knife from her belt and slit the paper.  She pulled out the letter and cleared her throat.  

“Trevelyan,” Wren read aloud.  “When word of the Inquisition reached me, I was relieved to hear your name attached to it.”

“Odd,” Wren mumbled, then continued reading.

“The Templars that were here in Ostwick went south to heed the Lord Seeker.  I remained to send on the men in the field.  We both know what happened to the Templars at Therinfal.  I heard that the Templars which have escaped those events are working under your banner now.  Thank you for that.  You have saved them, and the future of the Order with them.”

Wren shook her head.  “I don’t think I saved them,” she said.  “They saved themselves.”

“It was your actions which convinced Barris to come here with the Templars,” Leliana pointed out.

Wren made a face, but continued reading.

“I find myself at this age thinking more and more about Baron and the sacrifices you made.  Is it strange to admit that I envy him?  There is no one in this world I can be certain would show me the same kindness you showed him.  You gave more than we had the right to ask of you.”

Wren shifted uncomfortably, then began to read again.

“I am sending his effects to you.  He wanted you to have them.  He spoke of you often at the end.  You should know that he-”

Wren’s voice wobbled.

“-that he remembered you to the last.  I have kept his effects these many years, hoping word would reach me that you were alive.  I am sorry I did not do more for you.  In what time I have left, if you ever have need of me, you have only to send word.”

“‘In what time I have left’,” Josephine mused.  “Is he unwell?”

“He may be,” Wren said.

“Do you want me to send word to him?”

Wren hesitated.  

“Yes,” she finally said.

“Who was Baron?” Leliana asked.

“Knight-Captain Ennis Baron,” Wren said.  “He came to Ostwick to train me.”

“Did they not have enough trainers in Ostwick?” Leliana asked.

“If you wanted warriors, yes.  Ostwick had a reputation for turning out superior warriors,” Wren said.  “I was a rubbish warrior, but they couldn’t just ship me out to another chantry.  My family was too powerful.  When I showed promise with daggers, they sent for Ser Baron.  He was a rogue trainer from Starkhaven.”

“It must have worked out,” Leliana said.

“It did.  Not only was he a good trainer, but he was a good friend,” Wren agreed.  “He was the one that taught me to do impersonations.  He taught me all sorts of songs the Chantry wouldn’t have approved.  I adored him, really.  We were a bit like father and daughter.  I certainly thought of him that way.”

“I had my agents speak to Ser Beckwith when you first arrived,” Leliana said.  “He was not forthcoming with information.”

“I can only guess about why,” Wren said.  “It’s possible he was trying to protect me, even now.”

“Why would he need to protect you?” Josephine asked.

“I was given to the order.  By all rights, I belonged to them, and they’d invested heavily in me.  By leaving, I was stealing my training and all those resources,” Wren said.  “They frown upon that sort of thing.  They would have been within their rights to hunt me down and drag me back to face judgment.  I hadn’t fulfilled the terms of the contract my parents had signed with the order, after all.”

“What made you leave?” Josephine asked.

“Ser Baron,” Wren said.  “He was an old man when I knew him.  He’d had his vigil when he was seventeen, same as I would have.  He’d taken lyrium for longer than any of us have been alive, and lyrium eats you up.  It gives you power, but at a cost.  If you live long enough, you pay the way he did.  Pain.  Nightmares.  Flashbacks.  Visions.  Delusions.”

Wren shook her head.

“The lyrium started to take him the year of my vigil, and I abandoned my studies to stay with him. The Chantry mothers couldn’t manage him.  He was a big man, far taller than any of us, and still strong.  At first I was just in charge of keeping him from hurting himself or anyone else, but then they had me bringing his food, lyrium, and medicine.  Eventually I was the only one looking after him at all.  I moved in and slept in a chair by his bed.”

“You left the Order because you saw how it would end,” Leliana said.

“No,” Wren said.  “I won’t lie and say that didn’t terrify me.  It did.  What made me leave was Baron. Every time he had control, he would plead with me not to go through with the vigil.  He didn't want the Chantry to have that power over me.  He didn't want me to suffer the way he had.  I loved him.  After a lot of thought and many conversations about the matter, I agreed to do as he asked.”

"I see," Leliana said.  

"It was very dramatic at the time," Wren said.  "Remind me to tell you about it when we aren't planning terrible Orlesian party games."

She set down the letter on the table, then shrugged.  "Go ahead and use this for whatever purposes you have," she said, pushing it toward the map.  "I think we're done here for now."


	21. Or, We Learn Too Much (Or Too Little)

Wolfson fell into step with Cullen as the Commander left the rotunda to head to his office.

“Commander,” Wolfson said. “Have you seen Trevelyan?”

“She left the war room a while ago,” Cullen said, distracted by his thoughts. Wren had been efficient in her speech, almost cold. That was unlike her, and it worried him.

“Oh, wait, I see her,” Wolfson said. “She- oh. Did something happen?”

“Hmm? What makes you ask?” Cullen asked, looking in the direction of Wolfson’s gaze.

Wren was sitting on the battlement wall behind the stable, green glass bottle in her hand. She stared silently at the wall across from her.

“That’s her ‘shit’s gone wrong’ spot,” Wolfson said. “Might be time for an intervention.”

They walked together to Cullen’s office, and Wolfson cut to the side door. He stopped with his hand on the door handle, then looked at Cullen.

“Actually,” Wolfson said, “I think you should go. She doesn’t even have the decency to drink ale when she’s upset. It’s always cider. I’ll stay here and fend off messengers.”

Cullen set down his papers and frowned. “I don’t know that I’m best suited,” he said.

“I heard about the package that arrived for her. From Beckwith,” Wolfson said.

“Ah- yes,” Cullen said.

“Seems likely it had to do with Baron, then,” Wolfson said.

“She read us the letter Beckwith sent,” Cullen said, “and then explained about Baron, yes.”

“Beckwith questioned me for hours about that whole thing,” Wolfson said. “He couldn’t believe that no one knew she was leaving. I guess he eventually sat down with Baron long enough to drag something out of him, because he stopped asking after that.”

Wolfson gestured toward the door.

“I don’t want her to see me shaking,” Wolfson said. “I haven’t told Trevelyan that I quit.”

Cullen finally nodded.

“Have anyone that turns up leave their reports on the desk,” Cullen said. “Try not to break anything.”

“I’ll do my best,” Wolfson said.

Cullen left the tower and headed across the battlements.

He slowed a bit as he approached. She looked small, sitting there with the large green glass bottle in her hand.

Wren looked over her shoulder. Cullen couldn’t read the expression that crossed her face, but she slid over to make room for him to sit on her right.

He felt awkward, as if he were too large for the space. He sat down, but fidgeted.

Wren uncorked the bottle and took a pull of the contents.

They sat quietly for a moment, and then she sighed.

“I sat next to Baron’s bed,” Wren said, “and I watched him die in little pieces. I watched the lyrium eat him up and steal him from me, and I was so _angry_.”

She corked the bottle again and set it down behind her.

“I was angry a lot the last few years I was in the Chantry,” she said. She paused, then looked over at Cullen. “Tell me,” she asked. “Were there any girls training with you where you went?”

“No,” Cullen said, shaking his head.

“I was the only one in Ostwick,” Wren said. “Most of my teachers couldn’t remember another before me, either. When I was young I liked being unusual, but eventually I was sick of it. I was already different because of the rogue training, but then I shot up taller than the boys, and within a few months I was no longer just one of the trainees, I was a girl.”

“Weren’t you always a girl?” Cullen asked. Once the words were out, he had to resist the urge to groan. _Weren’t you always a girl? Dumb._

“Not so’s you’d notice,” Wren said. “I was just like everyone else for the first few years, and then I was only different because of the rogue training. I still ate with them, and studied with them, and slept in the same bunk as I always had. Everything was fine.”

Wren reached around behind her and grabbed the cider again, uncorking the bottle and flicking the cork off the battlement wall. She drank a bit, then offered the bottle to Cullen.

He hesitated, then took it. She watched him as he put it to his lips and drank.

It tasted powerfully of apple, with a hint of orange. The alcohol was a low burn at the end, warming his throat and chest. He suspected that it was more potent than it seemed. He thought about the amount of cider he’d seen Wren drink and shook his head. _She must have the tolerance of a Qunari_ , he thought.

“I don’t know what Wolfson complains about,” Cullen said, handing the bottle back. “Nothing wrong with that.”

Wren’s eyes lit up with pleasure. She leaned over and bumped her shoulder against his. “Good man,” she said.

“I take it everything did not remain fine,” Cullen said, nudging her in return.

“Mmm? No,” Wren said, picking up the thread again. "As we all got older, we started to... notice each other. You know how it is, you just reach an age, and suddenly everyone's more interesting than they were. You spend half your time thinking about- well. The Chantry mothers insisted I be pulled from the barracks when they picked up on it. They kept me under lock and key in the Chantry. All my training was with Baron. I spent most of my time with him, in the end. He had to put up with a lot of me being angry and lonely and frustrated.”

She shook her head. “Poor man,” she said.

“What was he like?” Cullen asked.

“Tall. So, so tall. At least a head taller than I was, with long dark gray hair and a long thin face,” Wren said. “Long arms, long legs. I learned to fight close because his reach was so long. He had this deep grumbly voice _like this_.” She imitated it, thick with a Starkhaven accent. “ _You’re weak on your left side, lass. Watch yer hip._ ”

She rubbed her left thigh idly. “Learned that one,” she mused.

“Oh?”

“He was having an attack and thought I was a demon,” Wren said. “He broke his mug on the wall and came after me with the shards. I didn’t watch my left, and he got me. I had to beg the healer not to tell anyone, because they’d have pulled me out of there after that one. It was pretty bad.”

“Maker,” Cullen said under his breath.

“That wasn’t him, though,” Wren said. “He was a good man. Loyal, sensible, level-headed. Always calm, no matter what happened.” She paused and took a drink of cider, then handed Cullen the bottle again.

Cullen drank a bit, watching her.

“He told me I was worth the sacrifices he’d made. I suppose I’d never thought about that before. He’d given up his life in Starkhaven to be a surrogate father to a badly behaved noble brat from Ostwick, and he never made me feel like that wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped to do all along.”

Wren looked off at the rubble again. “He laid there on that bed and he told me that he loved me and that he was sorry he couldn’t stay. That all he wanted was to know that I was free, and that I would never die like he was dying. I didn’t think about the choices. We didn’t talk about it for days. He begged me to leave and I promised I would. It was that fast.”

He swallowed, letting the burn slide slowly down his throat.

“I lied in the war room,” she said. “I didn’t want to say that I abandoned everything I knew without a second thought. I did, though. And… I would do it again. He was worth the sacrifices, too.”

“I left the Order,” Cullen said. “I wanted control over my life again. I wanted to fight for something important. I wanted to make up for who I was in the past. Cassandra offered me that chance, and I took it. I thought about it, but it wasn’t as careful a decision as you might think.”

“I’m glad you did. You’re a good man,” Wren said. “We couldn’t do this without you.”

Cullen shrugged and drank more cider.

“No, not-” Wren shrugged, imitating his gesture. “You’re a good man. We couldn’t do this without you. I certainly couldn’t. Don’t think less of yourself because you’ve struggled to get here, Cullen. None of us make it through unmarked.”

“You’re talking about scars,” Cullen said.

“I’m talking about everything,” Wren said.

She leaned back onto her hands, looking up at the sky as it turned pink with the sunset.

“When you told me about quitting the lyrium, it was hard not to panic,” Wren said. “Because I remembered watching him die. I remembered the things we’re told about quitting, about how it will kill you, and it’s all just like what I saw happen. I couldn't bear the idea of that happening to you.”

“It was horrible at first,” Cullen confessed. “Far worse than anything since. It’s not- it isn’t good, but it’s better now. Headaches sometimes, nightmares, but I know what’s real. I can endure it.”

“Mmm,” Wren said. “I wish you didn’t have to, but I’m glad you’re free.”

Cullen leaned back on his hands, mirroring Wren’s posture. “I am,” he said. The reality of it sunk in as he started at the clouds. “It’s… more than I’d hoped,” he said.

Wren looked over at him, studying the way his hair had started to curl a bit in the breeze off the mountains.

“What did you do,” Cullen asked, “after you agreed to leave the Order?”

“Do you mean ‘how did you leave’, or ‘what was your life like after’?” Wren asked.

“Either,” Cullen said.

“It was a bit of an operation,” Wren said. “I refused to leave before I absolutely had to, because I didn’t want to lose any time with him that I had left. I packed all my things, then hid the bag as far from the Chantry as I could get without being caught. When my vigil was close, Baron gave me a skeleton key that would open the Chantry doors. We didn’t want anyone to suspect anything, so we took a chance and I went to my vigil as if everything was normal. I waited until third prayers, because by then it was after the rest of the Chantry was on lock down. The key worked, so I didn’t need to waste time picking any locks. I snuck out of the Chantry via the pilgrimage walk.”

She sat up again. Cullen drank more cider, the warmth of it now almost a comfort.

“After that,” Wren said, “I made my way to the coast and bought passage on a ship. I was in steerage, which was an absolute nightmare. Sea travel is not for me. The rats, the bugs, the- ugh, it was terrible.”

Cullen groaned in memory. “I agree,” he said.

“I heard you hated it,” Wren said. “Varric mentioned it when we were at the Storm Coast.”

“I’m sure he did,” Cullen grumbled.

“Aw, don’t sulk, ducky. He didn’t go into details,” Wren said.

“Ducky?” Cullen sat forward, looking at Wren with a raised eyebrow.

Wren’s ears turned pink.

“ _Ducky_ ,” he repeated.

“Hush,” she said.

“I don’t think I will,” he said.

“Oh, like you don’t have little nicknames you give to people without them knowing,” Wren said. “Everyone does it.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Varric does.”

“He just calls people nicknames, he doesn’t keep them as little secrets.”

“Bah,” Wren said.

“Why ‘ducky’?”

“Oh, honestly,” Wren said. She turned and leaned over, then half climbed over his shoulder, using the arm pieces as leverage. She reached out and ruffled his hair. “You have to ask me, with your golden plumage?”

“Hey!” Cullen tried to shrug her off, but his armor had too many grip points. She stayed in place without seeming to notice the effort. 

“I usually call you ‘duckling’, anyway,” Wren said.

“That might be worse,” Cullen said, trying to bat her hands away from his head.

She chuckled.

“So many curls,” she observed, smoothing her fingers through his hair to tidy it again.

“I know,” Cullen said. “I was teased for it relentlessly before.” He tilted his head down, and she angled her fingers to lightly scratch his scalp with the back of her nails. A shiver raced down his spine.

“I ended up cutting my hair off as short as I could when I was on the ship because I felt so dirty all the time. It used to be nearly to my waist,” Wren said.

Cullen closed his eyes. She kept drawing slow lines from his forehead to the nape of his neck, taming the curls she’d unleashed a moment before. _Maker, that felt good._

“Better,” she said, pressing a few curls into submission. She didn’t stop touching him, tidying his hair carefully, and he fought the urge to wrap his arm around her waist and hold onto her.

“When do you suppose Wolfson will tell me he quit taking lyrium?” Wren asked.

“Ah- not today,” Cullen said, opening his eyes again. Wren pulled her hands back and sat back down away from him.

“He’s doing something different to quit. I’m not sure what. Do you know?” she asked.

“Dagna made some kind of half-strength lyrium he’s been taking to taper off. It seems to help,” Cullen said. “How did you find out?”

“I figured it out,” Wren said. “Lyrium hums. People that take it hum, too. He hums differently lately. Less.”

“Do I still…?”

“A bit,” Wren said. “But it’s faded. It’s more like the memory of a song than an actual song.”

“That’s… comforting, actually,” Cullen said.

“Can’t you hear it?” Wren asked.

“No,” Cullen said. “I probably could, before I was taking it and hearing it all the time, but I don’t remember.”

“That makes sense.”

She reached over and made a grabbing gesture toward the cider bottle Cullen was still holding. He handed it back to her, and she peered inside.

Wren clucked her tongue. “Gone.”

“Is it?” Cullen asked, surprised.

“It is. You drank nearly the lot of it,” Wren said. “You owe me one, ser. I’ll collect when it’s least convenient.”

She climbed back over to tuck a wayward curl behind his ear, then stood up.

“Thank you,” Wren said. “For coming out.”

Cullen stood up and stretched. He felt terribly relaxed. Was it the cider? The company? He suspected the latter. “Any time,” he said.

 

* * *

 

Wren couldn’t help dreaming about where she’d go after the ball. Exalted Plains? Emerald Graves? Dragon killing in Emprise du Lion? Depending on her stress levels, the answer changed.

Over the war table, when assigning people, she gnawed her lower lip and asked tight questions. Why are we helping this person? What do you think? How will that help? Cullen’s answers seemed reasonable most of the time, and that let her know she wasn’t in any condition to make choices. She often just looked at the table, threw up her hands, told Leliana to do whatever she liked, then told the others to take naps and wait until after this was over.

Josie and Cullen tried not to take it personally.

After another unsatisfying war table meeting, (and staring down another dance lesson with Josephine) Wren walked into the main hall and sat down at Varric’s work table next to the fireplace. She flopped down face first onto the wood and groaned.

“You know what Hawke does when shit gets heavy?” Varric asked.

“Is the answer ‘kill something’? Please tell me the answer involves killing something,” Wren said.

“Nah. Well, that too, but these days she usually drags Fenris off and has at him until they forget how to walk,” Varric said.

“Are you suggesting you and I try that method? Why Varric, I thought you’d never ask,” Wren said. She didn’t even bother looking up.

Varric chuckled.

“I mention it because she’s coming back to Skyhold,” he said. “With Fenris. You may want to find them a soundproof room.”

Wren’s head snapped up.

“What?” Wren asked.

“Yeah. Hawke sent word ahead to Weisshaupt, and I gather that something has gone very wrong up there in the Anderfels. She’s decided to head back here to discuss what they found out with Leliana and Ruffles. After her disappearing act, Fenris isn’t letting her out of his sight, so they’ll both be here.”

“Ohhhh, Maker,” Wren said, dropping her head back down again.

“What's wrong?  Did you and Chuckles not get along?” Varric asked. “I thought you did.”

“We got along fine,” Wren said. “I like her. I’m sure I’ll like Fenris, as much as it’s possible to like someone that’s going to hate me. But Varric, we have Dorian. Dorian, the charming and lovely man that is an _altus from Tevinter_.”

“Ah,” Varric said. He set down his pen. “Shit.”

“What do we do, lock Dorian in a cupboard until Fenris leaves? Hide him in the basement? Send him to Val Royeaux until they leave?” Wren asked. “This is a disaster. He’s going to say something about how great Tevinter could be and Fenris is going to rip him in half.”

“I have an idea,” Varric said.

“Does it involve killing anything?” Wren asked with a groan. “Like me, before this can happen?”

“What is with you and killing things today? And no.”

“I’m a little tense. Forgive me. What’s your idea?”

“Letters. I’ll write to Chuckles and warn her about the problem. She met Dorian, didn’t she?” Varric asked, searching for a blank sheet of paper.

“She did. She liked him. Said he was a ‘good kid’ and said if he could ‘tone down the Vint’ she knew a guy he should meet - wait. Do you suppose she meant Fenris?”

“Probably. She thinks everyone should meet the elf. I’m surprised she didn’t sit you down to tell you all about him,” Varric said. “She’s like Choir Boy with Andraste when it comes to Fenris.”

“She might have done, if there’d been time,” Wren said.

“There will be time now,” Varric said. “Prepare yourself for at least twenty minutes just about his voice.”

“Is it good?” Wren asked, curiosity pulling her head up from her arms.

Varric shrugged. “I’m not the best judge, Birdy. You’ll hear it for yourself. As I was saying, though - letters. I’ll get Chuckles on board, and while they’re travelling here we can get Sparkler and Elf to write back and forth, reports and such. Sparkler can’t resist being chatty. They’ll be used to each other before they meet in person.”

“Or he’ll annoy them so much that they’ll decide not to come,” Wren mused. “That could work. Will you talk to Dorian about it? You’re best suited to warn him about Fenris. All I know is what you’ve said, and what’s in that book you wrote.”

“They’ll still come, but maybe we’ll go to your idea of locking Sparkler in a cupboard if it starts looking like there’s no hope,” Varric said. “I’ll talk to him after I’m done with these papers.”

Wren put her head back down. “I hope that’s the last crisis before this stupid party.”

“At least it’s just Chuckles and Elf,” Varric said cheerfully. “Could be worse.”

“What next? Is the bloody Prince of Starkhaven going to make an appearance?”

“Actually-”

Wren’s head popped up and she looked at Varric with minor panic.

“Please no,” she said.

“Not any time soon, Birdy. Busy work, being a new prince. He won’t be able to help himself from visiting eventually, though. You are the Herald of Andraste, and he’s still Choir Boy.”

Wren groaned.

“Cheer up. It won’t be so bad, and you seem to have a thing for Chantry boys,” Varric said, smirking.

“...what?” Wren said, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, Alistair was in the Templars before he was a Warden, and I hear you rather fancied him when you were younger,” Varric said. “And then there’s Curly. Now that I think about it, I don’t know why you don’t already fancy Choir Boy. Or do you?”

“Does everyone know about every crush I’ve ever had?” Wren asked, exasperated. “What next? Are we going to discuss when I got put on half rations at the Chantry for touching myself?”

Varric laughed. “Did that really happen?”

“Yes. Twice, before I learned to be sneakier. Chantry mothers frown upon you defiling yourself in the house of the Maker. Well, I wouldn’t have if they hadn’t locked me IN the house of the Maker, so it’s really their own fault,” Wren grumbled.

“This is utterly fascinating,” Wren heard Dorian say. She turned and looked over her shoulder as Dorian walked up beside her.

“Oh, fine. Just fine,” Wren said. “Let’s just tell everyone then, Trevelyan.”

“It’s only myself and Varric, dove,” Dorian said reassuringly. “But do go on.”

“Ugh. Varric is right anyway. My first crush was on Sebastian Vael. Do I have some kind of weird fetish?” Wren asked, shaking her head. “What is wrong with me?”

Varric laughed. “I have no idea, but something is, if you had a thing for Choir Boy.”

“I was fourteen!” Wren said defensively. “Baron used to tell me stories about the wicked son of the Vaels, locked away in the Chantry for his own good! Do you know how compelling that is? _He’s so bad they made him go to church forever._ ”

“And now he’s chaste and wears Andraste’s face between his legs,” Varric said.

Wren rolled her eyes. “Yes, yes, _now_ ,” she said impatiently. “But that part wasn’t in the stories I was told, now was it?”

“Hmm,” Dorian said. “There is something to be said for stories about debauching repressed Chantry boys.”

“No, see, the stories I was told were meant to be warnings about an already wicked prince. Drinking, carousing, being dragged out of bedrooms at dawn, so ‘best be careful girl or you’ll end up the same’.” Wren explained.

“Ah, I see. So he’s already debauched, and you’re what, rescuing him?” Dorian asked.

“If I recall correctly, it was more like I inspired him to do terrible, unholy things within the walls of the Chantry itself,” Wren said.

“Taking you in the confessional,” Dorian suggested. “Tying you to the statue of Andraste. Making _you_ repeat the Chant of Light while _his_ mouth is busy.”

Wren looked appraisingly at Dorian. “I’m learning more about you every day,” she said.

“You two need to quit this or take it somewhere else,” Varric said. “I don’t want to think about Choir Boy that way.”

“Do we have a picture of this man?” Dorian asked.

“I’m sure we could find one,” Wren said. “I could describe him for you, if needs be. I can even toss in words like ‘glistening’.”

“What did I just say?” Varric asked.

Dorian chuckled. “We’ll revisit this later, dove. But do tell me more about this crush you have on the Commander. I notice you didn’t deny that.”

Wren groaned. “Kill me,” she requested.

Dorian sat down across from her and rested his chin on his hands.

“Do you _pine_ for him, all alone in his tower?” Dorian asked. “Make plans you never go through with to climb up and ravish him?”

“I will do you serious harm, Dorian,” Wren said.

“Perhaps we could get you a statue of Andraste,” Dorian teased.

“I’m not joking,” Wren said.

“Those owls could work, if they weren’t so high up,” he mused.

“ _Dorian_.”

“You’re not any fun at all, dove. To think I was bringing you good news about the Winter Palace,” Dorian said.

“Is there such a thing?” she asked.

“You may have noticed,” Dorian said, “but I am not inexperienced in the art of beauty.”

“Of course I’ve noticed, Dorian,” Wren said. “It is blindingly obvious.”

“I was speaking to Vivienne, and she mentioned that she was struggling to find the appropriate makeup for you,” Dorian said. “I offered to help. Tevinter is a place of drama and beauty, after all.”

“If it gets me out of another lecture about my face, I may be re-evaluating doing you harm,” Wren said.

“I wouldn’t breathe a word of criticism,” Dorian promised. “I would enjoy seeing the Inquisitor running around Halamshiral in proper Tevinter makeup.”

“I find myself immediately sold on this idea,” Wren said.

“You’ll have to come by later so I can practice. It’s been some time since I put on more than eyeliner,” Dorian said. “There’s hardly a point to being more ostentatious than that here, but believe me, I can.”

“I’ll come by after supper,” Wren said. “I don’t think I have plans then.”

“Excellent. We’ll do a bit of practice, then on the day we’ll be prepared. I have a few ideas,” Dorian said.

“Inquisitor?” Josephine said, walking up behind them. “Are you ready?”

Wren winced, then stood and put a complacent expression on her face.

“Of course, Josie,” Wren said.

Dorian smirked.

“While you’re here, Sparkler,” Varric said. “I have something else to discuss with you…”

 

* * *

 

“You’re really quite good at this,” Josephine said, walking Wren to the door after their practice. “I don’t know why you’re so unhappy about it.”

Wren sighed. “It isn’t fun, Josie,” she said. “Dancing is meant to be fun, not a miserable thing you do under scrutiny.”

“Oh, but it _is_ fun! And knowing everyone is watching you is part of it, Inquisitor. They’re all watching a conversation you’re having, and when you win it is a true triumph,” Josie said.

“ _If_ I win,” Wren said.

“I have confidence in you,” Josie said.

Wren sighed. “We leave in two days, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Josie confirmed. “We’ll arrive at the villa Leliana found the day before the masquerade. We will stay there the night before and the night after.”

Wren nodded.

“I believe I can release you from future practice, Wren,” Josie said, winking. “Take the last two days to relax, if you can.”

Wren’s face lit up like a child at Satinalia. She grabbed Josie’s hands in hers, then lifted them up and kissed Josie’s knuckles on both hands.

Josie blushed and laughed.

Wren released Josie's hands, then grinned and ran out of the main hall, half tumbling down the steps in her eagerness to be away.

 

* * *

 

“Tea, yer ladyship?”

“Oh yes, indeed,” Wren said, crossing her right leg over her left one daintily.

Sera handed her a tea cup full of cider, and Wren batted her eyelashes. “You’re too kind,” Wren said.

“This was a good idea, yeah?” Sera asked, leaning back in her chair.

“The best,” Wren agreed. She raised the cup to her lips delicately.

Sera shoved another cookie in her mouth, then paused. Her eyes lit up and she took a large bite.

“You know what you need next?” Sera asked around her mouthful of cookie.

“A week’s vacation in Rivain?” Wren suggested.

“No,” Sera said. “One of Varric’s shirts.”

“I wish,” Wren said. “I covet them. I want one of the red ones, but I can’t beat him at cards and he doesn’t love me enough to just hand one over.”

“You gotta be cleverer than that,” Sera said. “Give ‘im a good reason to hand it over, like messin’ with Cullen.”

“Huh?” Wren asked, pausing before sipping her cider.

“Think about it,” Sera said, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “Varric’s shirt hooks up the front, so you leave a few unhooked, like he does. Maybe a few too many? Then lean over the war table or something.”

“I wear an undershirt, Sera,” Wren pointed out.

“Still naughty,” Sera insisted.

“In this scenario, am I wearing pants?” Wren asked, nibbling a cookie.

“Sure. Unless you’re not. How sturdy are your smalls?”

“Who said I wear smalls?” Wren asked with a wink.

Sera cackled. 


	22. Or, A Very Near Miss

_One day left_ , Wren thought as she sat on the warm roof tiles.

She watched Cullen walk across the battlements to his office.

She slid down the roof and onto the battlements, landing carefully. She walked to Cullen’s office, then knocked. At his muffled reply, she opened the door and walked over to where he was squatting down looking at a pile of books.

Wren cleared her throat.

“Oh! Inquisitor?” Cullen asked, standing up and facing her.

“Is there anything I should know?” she asked, as if she cared.

It was clear to Cullen that she did not.

“No-”

“Good. I thought we could talk,” Wren said.

She looked over her shoulder at the door, then back at Cullen.

“Alone,” she specified.

“Alone?” he squeaked, then said, “I mean, of course.”

They walked out the side door and down the battlements. As they made their way further from the office, Wren tried to relax. Tried, and failed. _This is a bad idea_ , she thought as the adrenaline started to fade. She didn’t really have anything to talk to him about, and she’d wanted to be alone more to avoid messengers than anything else, but now he was on edge.

She should have known better. When they were alone her mind tended to race and she got distracted by wanting to-

“It’s a… nice day,” Cullen offered, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Wren turned and looked at him. “What?” she asked, stopping.

Cullen took another step, then stopped. He looked so nervous that Wren’s heart started pounding. _Look, you’ve made him so uncomfortable now. You’re a lousy friend._

“It’s… there’s something you wished to discuss,” Cullen said, cutting off her trail of thought.

“Certainly not the weather,” she said without thinking. _Great, Wren. At least you didn’t tell him you wanted to talk about the benefits of counting his scars with your tongue. Think of something you needed to ask him. Some reason you wanted to be alone. Make some damn thing up._

Wren felt like her skin was too tight. She avoided looking him in the eye, for fear he could somehow see her thoughts. _Irrational._

“I assumed that much,” Cullen said. “Uhm.”

He paced away.

“I was thinking,” Wren said, almost stumbling over her own words. “About the party.”

“Yes?” Cullen said, turning back, clearly relieved.

“I- um…” Wren faltered. “I lied,” she confessed. “I wasn’t actually. I’m a terrible friend. I just wanted to be steal you for a bit and avoid the messengers.”

Cullen chuckled and leaned against the wall next to her.

“I don’t mind,” he said confessionally.

Wren sighed in relief.

“I do have something I wanted to talk to you about,” Cullen said.

“Oh?” Wren asked.

“It’s about travelling,” Cullen said. “We’ll be camping on the road.”

“Uh huh.”

“I often have nightmares,” Cullen said. “And I talk in my sleep. I’m not certain how best to handle- I don’t want to disturb anyone.”

“You don’t want this to become common knowledge,” Wren guessed.

“I’d rather it didn’t,” Cullen agreed.

“Well, then that’s easily solved,” Wren said, “You can stay with Cassandra. She already knows.”

Cullen frowned.

“I doubt anyone will think anything of it,” Wren said. “Unless you’d rather stay with Varric? He already knows too, since he was on the ship with you before. He usually stays with Bull, but I can instead. We’ve done it before.”

“Maybe that,” Cullen said.

“Varric? That’s fine. Leave it to me, I can shift around the sleeping arrangements,” Wren said. “See there? I sorted a problem without causing an international diplomacy crisis. It’s good practice.”

Cullen relaxed back against the battlement wall again. Wren slid over to stand shoulder to shoulder with him.

“What do you suppose will happen at the Winter Palace?” Wren asked.

“A lot of Orlesians in masks will do things that make no sense, we’ll save them, and they’ll manage to be ungrateful about it,” Cullen said.

Wren laughed.

“Probably,” Wren conceded.

“I still don’t see why I can’t wear armor,” Cullen grumbled.

“I’m sneaking mine in,” Wren said.

“That seems strikingly unfair.”

“It seems fair enough to me. I have to run around the whole place sorting out assassins.”

“I’d rather do that than stand around making small talk,” Cullen said.

“Aw, ducky, you’ll charm them right out of their overly elaborate pants,” Wren said, nudging him with an elbow.

“That’s the last thing I want,” Cullen said, frowning at the thought.

“I bet some of them are good fun,” Wren said unconvincingly.

Cullen harrumphed.

“Is Rylen settled in?” Wren asked.

“He is. He’s running the drills now,” Cullen said.

“I should bother him later,” Wren said, grinning. “I’ve been brushing up on my Starkhaven accent just for such an occasion.”

“Are you mocking my second, Inquisitor?”

“No, no. I’ve got a song for him,” Wren insisted.  
  
“Still nothing for me, though,” Cullen said.

“Does that bother you?” Wren asked, tilting her head. “If I’m honest, I have plenty of songs for you. I just keep them to myself, because you’re always so busy.”

“It’s fine,” Cullen said.

“If it does,” Wren insisted, “I’ll give you one. Not right now, I don’t have my lute, but soon. I’ve owed you one for ages.”

“Really, I was just teasing,” Cullen said, looking anxious.

“Mmm,” Wren said.

“Commander!”

The two of them turned as a scout walked up quickly. “I have a report for you,” the man said.

“Back to work,” Cullen said, with a sigh.

“I suppose so,” Wren said, making a face.

Wren watched Cullen walk away with the other man, and couldn’t help feeling like she’d missed an opportunity for something. What, she wasn’t sure, but… something.

 

* * *

 

Cullen looked up when he heard a knock on the door.

It opened and Wren slipped in, looking behind her as if she were afraid she were being followed.

“Three people gave me messages for you while I was in the main hall,” she said. She looked over at him. “I wasn’t even coming here!”

“Oh?” Cullen looked at the closed door behind her, then at her. She - was she blushing?

“Well. I was thinking about it, but-”

Wren looked down at the papers in her hands awkwardly.

“Anyway,” she said, “Messages.”

She walked around and handed him the papers, then hoisted herself up onto his desk to wait.

Cullen migrated over to stand closer to her as he scanned through the pages. More reports about Orlais… troop training issues… a note from Varric about-

“Cullen?”

Cullen looked up at Wren. “You’re making a face,” she informed him.

“Varric,” he said, as if that explained everything.

Wren chuckled.

Cullen set down the papers and looked at Wren.

“This feels familiar,” he said. “Isn’t this when Josephine comes to drag you away?”

“Shh! Don’t give her any ideas!” Wren said, looking over her shoulder in distress. “She promised no more dancing, but she could come up with something else.”

Cullen chuckled.

“Varric,” he said, “says that you’re in danger of murdering someone. He suggests I distract you.”

“Does he? That’s very thoughtful of him,” Wren said. Her smile took on a bit of an edge, a feral little something that reminded him of her easy flirtations back in Haven. “How do you propose to do that, then?”

“I have a few ideas,” he said, smirking.

“Ooh, are we going to talk about troop movements?” Wren asked, crossing her ankles and leaning forward to wrap her hands around the edge of the desk.

“We could. I do have all the write ups about how we’re going to move our men into-”

“If you even breathe ‘Orlais’ or ‘the Winter Palace’ or ‘Halamshiral’, I will do you serious harm,” Wren said.

“Perhaps not, then,” Cullen conceded.

The door behind them opened. Wren turned just a little to look at the messenger, then sighed.

“Hi Cara,” she said. She sounded terribly resigned.

Cullen looked over. Poor Cara. She looked no happier to be interrupting them than Wren did.

“A message for both of you from Sister Leliana,” Cara said. “We leave for Val Royeaux in the morning. She specifically requests that neither of you try to run before then.”

Wren chuckled.

“Tell Sister Leliana that we’ll be ready when the time comes,” Cullen said.`

“Right away, Ser.”

Cara left, and Wren reached over to grab Cullen’s vest. She pulled him closer and whispered conspiratorially. “We could still run,” she said, wheedling.

“I am reasonably sure Leliana would kill us,” Cullen said. “Possibly only just before Josephine could try.”

“I’m going to keep this in mind while we’re making nice with every terrible Orlesian in the empire,” Wren said. “I’ll just keep telling myself, ‘Wren, you tried to talk him into running, and he didn’t’. I’ll look forward to telling you afterward that you should have listened to me.”

Cullen chuckled. “Oh really?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll be quite obnoxious about it, too.”

“I’m sure you will,” Cullen said.

“Hey! Don’t agree with me about that,” Wren protested. “Unfair.”

 

* * *

 

The rest of Skyhold was hours into sleep when Cullen dragged himself up the ladder and wearily stripped off his armor. He hung it on the rack to wait for morning, trying to be quiet despite his distance from everyone else. Off with his boots, with his leather shirt, with the sweaty undershirt that would have to be tossed into the laundry in the morning.

He swapped his heavy pants for a pair of lightweight linen ones, then flopped down on his bed to stare at the ceiling.

Josephine fussed over the holes in his ceiling, but really, they weren’t over the bed, and he could see the stars through them. He was always too warm anyway, so it wasn’t a hardship.

He sighed.

He was not looking forward to tomorrow. Why he was so anxious about this, he couldn’t say - it wasn’t even the ball at this point, but the actual travel, with Wren and the inner circle. He was used to standing on the wall and watching them leave. He trusted Rylen, but what if something went wrong?

Cullen froze when he heard the sound of a lute. He sat up. Where - was it coming from above him?

Wren’s voice drifted through the holes in the ceiling, singing softly.

“Over the hills I went one day a-dreaming of myself and you. In the springtime of years since first we met, and all that we’ve been through. May I not with delight still dream of the years, of the summers and falls to be? And the many many verses still to be sung in the ballad of you and me,” Wren sang. “In the ballad of you and me.”

He tried to spot her, but she was hidden somewhere on the roof, just near enough to be heard, too far to be seen. Her voice was quiet, as if the song were a secret she was sharing with him.

“Wren?” he whispered.

“Over the years we have wandered in love, linking arms against the stormy days,” she sang in reply. “And the path with heart is the one that we chose, learning ever of its gentler ways. May we gather together the stones for our home, in a field we have sown joyfully, and together we shall live for the rest of our days in wonder and harmony - in wonder and harmony.”

He stood up.

“Wren,” he repeated.

“Go to sleep, duckling,” she said. “It’s late, and you have drills in the morning.”

“Come down from there,” he said.

He heard her footsteps above him, then the sound of her skittering down the outside wall. Then, he heard nothing.

“Not what I meant,” he said softly.

It was silent outside, and he went back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song she sings on the roof is called "Over the Hills", and my favorite version is by Carl Asch. I did find a video of him playing the song, but I have to apologise a bit - whoever filmed it was either also singing, or was next to someone that was, which makes for a very distracting video. :/ Regardless, it should give you the flavor of the tune. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hglcPW0T2sI


	23. Or, Parties Are Not Enjoyed

There was no time to talk on the road to the Winter Palace. Rather, there was no time to talk when they weren’t surrounded by people - troops, friends, messengers, scouts, all impeding any chance they had to talk about the song.

The song.

It loomed ever larger between them. Cullen wasn’t sure what he wanted to say. He wished powerfully that she’d dropped down into his room so he could have thanked her at that moment. Seen her face. Found some way to tell her what he felt. How could he hope to- but he did. He hoped, and hoping felt dangerous.

Wren was anxious, and she couldn’t blame the ball. It was her own fault, it was that song, which seemed at the time to be perfect but now felt too obvious. _Ugh, why don’t you just throw yourself at him, Trevelyan?_

They flirted, but she knew how meaningless that could be. She flirted with Dorian all the time, after all. Blackwall. Sera. Bull. Josie. Sure, she’d talked to all of them about it at one point or another, making sure they were fine with her being a flirt, but she- couldn’t do that with Cullen. It wasn’t meaningless. It was awkward and real and terrible. It burned her up inside and made her stumble on her words and bite her tongue.

All her songs for him were love songs.

The chaos of camp made avoiding the situation easy, but Wren knew she was only making it worse by hiding. She couldn’t deny that she was doing just that, but somehow she couldn’t stop. She went to bed early. She took awkward watch shifts. She always found someone to be helping when Cullen wasn’t busy.

She was a wreck.

By the morning of the ball she was practically vibrating with stress.

“Don’t fidget, dove,” Dorian said, holding the fine brush still and looking at her sternly.

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Wren said. She exhaled carefully and tried to hold herself in place.

He held her chin and tipped her head before drawing his lines.

She was already in her uncomfortably perfect suit, having been poked and prodded and scolded into place by Vivienne. Josephine had fussed over Wren’s hair, twisting little gems on coiled wires into it to hold it in the places she wanted. Now it was just Dorian’s work to go before she had to walk out and meet Gaspard.

“You’re thinking,” Dorian said. “Do try to stop that.”

Wren sighed.

“Almost done,” he promised.

Another dab, and then he nodded in satisfaction. “There we are, properly Tevinter,” he said.

Wren walked over to the mirror and stared.

It wasn’t that she was new to the concept of makeup - she’d worn it a bit in the past, while performing - but her past efforts were nothing compared to this. Dorian had managed to somehow sculpt her face with color, making her into something familiar, but different. There were sharp, perfect lines around her eyes and tiny glittering gems glued in place to accent them. She seemed to have more eyelashes than she’d had before, long and dark and sweeping. Even her mouth was different, somehow fuller, painted with a red that reminded her morbidly of dark blood. He’d dusted her lips with gold to highlight them. He’d even snuck in some gemmed studs for her ears, a few connected with fine gold chains to draw the eye.

“Ah, don’t forget the mask,” Dorian said.

He reached over and pulled it off the table, handing it to Wren. She looked down at it and smirked.

Oh, certainly, it was a nod to Orlesian custom, but it was a sly one. The mask was made of perfect, clear glass - how Dagna had managed that, Wren couldn’t imagine - with carefully pierced gold around the edges. It covered half her face, but obscured nothing. If anything, it made her look even less Orlesian than she had without the mask at all.

“Do you think the mask may be a step too far?” she asked Dorian.

“Is there such a thing?” he asked.

Wren looked at him in clear anxiety, and he smiled. “No,” he said.  "If it were, Leliana would not have allowed it to be made."

Wren tied the mask on, then took a deep breath.

“Let’s do this,” she said.

 

* * *

 

Cullen wanted to go home.

He felt naked without his armor, everything here was terribly perfumed, and three Orlesian women had stood behind him loudly debating the merits of his arse for ten minutes before he managed to find a spot by the topiaries that shielded him from view.

As soon as those doors opened he planned on finding a spot against a wall and not moving until it was absolutely necessary.

“When will they arrive?” he hissed at Leliana.

“Soon,” she said calmly. “Try to relax, Commander.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled. “Nobody is trying to touch your-”

“Shh!” Leliana said, nodding toward the gate.

Wren glided in, and all the air left his lungs.   _Maker's breath._

“Oh, very nice,” Leliana murmured. “Dorian did well.”

Cullen couldn’t think of a thing to say. She was… beautiful and terrifying. She was standing regally inside the gates, every inch of her as noble as any of the scoffing Orlesians around them.  She looked sly and knowing and powerful.

“It’s just Tevinter enough to hint that she may have interests abroad. Very good. Dorian made her into a bit of a warning,” Leliana whispered.

“A what?” Cullen managed.

“A warning. Like a venomous snake. They catch your eye to warn you that you shouldn’t touch them,” Leliana said.  "She's bright and colorful, but deadly."

Wren walked by on Gaspard’s arm. She was even walking differently - precise, gliding paces that matched her straight back and cool expression.

She shot Cullen a quick look as she passed him, through her heavy lashes. He couldn’t read it, and that made him even less comfortable than before.  All her cues were hidden.  Who was she here?

Cullen shook his head. “Let’s get this over with,” he said.

 

* * *

 

One hour into the event and all Wren could remember was the way her ears burned when she heard her name read out - “Wren Elselein Marcelette Trevelyan, late of the noble house Trevelyan in Ostwick”, and the tiny revelation of Cullen’s full name. _Cullen Stanton Rutherford._ It was such a good name. Had she even known his surname before this? Maybe someone had mentioned it in passing, but it hadn’t stuck. Now she kept repeating it in her head as she walked around mingling politely with most of Orlesian high society. She smiled politely, never confirming or denying anything, never expressing an opinion on any matter at all, all the while rolling the syllables around in her head.   _Cullen Stanton Rutherford._ Such a good name.

She needed to give the people here the impression that she was present, so that when she slipped away to investigate they would all swear she was just there a moment ago, but Maker knew she didn't have to like it.  She did enjoy meeting Yvette Montilyet, but beyond that she found most people intolerable.

Wren walked down the last side of the dance floor, and hesitated when she heard a woman wheedling Cullen to “Smile, Commander! You are so handsome when you smile!”

Wren paused and looked through the crowd at a very uncomfortable looking Cullen.

“He is just as handsome when he doesn’t,” the man next to Cullen said.

_Oh, duckling, I’m so sorry_ , she thought. She kept walking.

“Did you just… grab my bottom?” she heard Cullen ask, a bit shocked.

Wren stopped. She turned around to watch them.

The Orlesian man shrugged. “I’m a weak man,” the Orlesian said.

Wren slid through the crowd and stood next to the nobleman, then delicately cleared her throat.

“Ah, Inquisitor!” the Orlesian said, pleased. “I was just-”

“Admiring my Commander?” Wren asked. The question had fangs, however politely she spoke it.  Even her smile bared her teeth a bit more than was polite.

“Can you blame me? He is very handsome,” the man said. When he looked at Wren, something in her expression had him taking a step away from Cullen. As he did, Wren’s smile became more polite and pleasant.   _Good man._

“He is,” Wren agreed. She smiled beneficently. “I do hope that you are strong enough to withstand the urge to admire him so closely again.”

“Ah, of course, my lady Inquisitor,” the man said. “I didn’t realize.”

Wren hummed non-committally.

“Inquisitor, if you have a moment,” Cullen said.

“Of course,” Wren said.

She walked with him a few feet away.

“You’ve attracted quite a following,” Wren said. “Who are all these people?”

“I don’t know,” Cullen said, a bit desperately, “but they won’t leave me alone.”

She looked over his shoulder at the slowly migrating crowd heading in their direction.

“They’re very persistent,” Wren said, “I’ll give them that.”

Cullen sighed.

“Not enjoying the attention, then?” she asked, stepping closer to hide their conversation.

“Hardly. Anyway, yours- yours is the only attention worth having,” he said quietly, distracted by the approaching crowd.

“Oh?” Wren asked, lowering her voice as if they were sharing secrets.

Cullen froze.

“I said that out loud, didn’t I?” he asked.

“You did,” Wren said.

He groaned.

She raised up on her toes just slightly, leaning toward his ear, and lowered her voice again.

“Well,” she said, “you always have it, for whatever it’s worth.”

She dropped back down on her heels, then smiled at the Orlesians that had moved in to surround Cullen again. “Please excuse me,” she said politely.

Cullen swallowed hard and watched her walk away.

“Can I get you a drink, Commander Cullen?” one of the ladies nearby asked.

“No, thank you,” Cullen said, though at that moment, he desperately wished he could have one.

 

* * *

 

“Don’t go back in there mad. You'll only give yourself away.  Try to think nice thoughts,” Varric suggested.

“Oh, I’ll get right on that,” Wren said impatiently. “Nice thoughts, nice thoughts. Like the sudden evaporation of Orlais from the map?”

“I was thinking more like ‘after this is over we can go home and have a better party’,” Varric said.

Wren paused, wiping the blood off one of her daggers.

“Do I have to wear pants at this theoretical party?” she asked.

“You can wear anything you like, Birdy,” Varric said.

“Can I wear your red shirt?” Wren asked.

“My red- why?” Varric asked.

“I like it,” Wren said, shrugging.

“So do I,” Varric said. He thought about it a moment while reloading Bianca, then shrugged.  “I have my second best one at the villa.  You can just have that one if you promise to order me a replacement,” he said.

“We have a deal, then,” Wren said. “Your red shirt, no pants.”

“Okay, Rivaini.”

“I’m choosing to take that as a compliment.”

 

* * *

 

The second time Wren ran the room was after her dance with Florianne, and now everyone wanted to talk to her. Even the Lady Mantillion promised to save her a dance at a future fête, though Wren wasn't at all sure that anything about that promise was straightforward.

To get through the endless requests to dance, all of which she denied, Wren fixed Skyhold in her mind. Everyone would be there. She could get drunk on cider and not wear pants and sing terrible songs and-

“Do you enjoy music, Commander?”

“Everyone enjoys music, madam.”

Wren gritted her teeth and kept walking.   _Leeches, all of them._  She could hardly blame them, she supposed, but somehow she did all the same.

“Leliana,” Wren said, walking up and leaning on the table next to the Spymaster.

“Ah, Inquisitor. Learning useful things?” Leliana asked.

“Quite possibly. Here, I’ve made notes,” Wren said, slipping Leliana a bit of folded paper.

“Excellent,” Leliana said. She tucked the paper into her jacket sleeve.

“We may need to provide Cullen with a guard,” Wren grumbled. “He’s awfully popular.”

“At least three people have tried to grab his backside since the last one you scared off,” Leliana said.

“Honestly,” Wren said.  She shook her head.

“I believe he’s gotten a few proposals as well,” Leliana said. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Orlesians work fast,” Wren said, rolling her eyes.

“He’s been telling them that he’s already taken,” Leliana said. “They don’t seem to believe him.”

“He- what?” Wren said. “But he isn’t. Is he?”

“No,” Leliana said. She looked at Wren, then smiled slyly. “You should go over and cosy up to him,” Leliana suggested. “Think of the chaos it would cause. The Herald of Andraste and the Commander of the Inquisition? Delicious.”

“Leliana, really,” Wren protested, her ears turning a bit red. “As if we don’t have enough problems tonight. I may have already started rumors by growling at the man earlier.”

“What’s a few more? One well placed hand, Inquisitor, and you could save him a dozen more proposals.”

“You’re trying to get me into trouble,” Wren said. “Why are you trying to get me into trouble?”

Leliana chuckled.

“You’re doing far better than you expected, you know,” Leliana said. “I don’t think there’s anyone here that isn’t charmed.  We could risk a bit of scandal.”

“They’re charmed now,” Wren said. “Just wait for later. I’ll find a way to ruin it.” She looked around, her gaze catching on Cullen a moment before she looked back at the Spymaster. “I have to go do something inappropriate in the royal wing,” Wren said. “I’ll be back as quickly as I can.”

“I’ll try to keep the Commander reasonably safe until then,” Leliana said.

Wren walked away quickly. With any luck, this would be over soon.

 

* * *

 

There was a moment, a distinct, perfect moment when Wren knew she could end this quickly. A moment when she knew she could stare down Florianne and shame her in front of the court and it would only make Orlais love the Inquisition more. Bloodless, flawless, simple.

She saw that moment.  Then she saw Florianne looking down her nose at Wren, almost sneering. She saw the look that Gaspard gave his sister, as if she’d failed him. The haughty irritation on both their faces, as if Wren being alive was a terrible inconvenience.

_I am done playing nice with these people. I am not better than this_ , Wren thought.

She was not better than telling Cullen to detain the Duchess.

She was not better than chasing the woman down into the gardens.

She was not better than mocking the Duchess as Florianne dodged Bianca’s bolts.

“Come back, Florianne!” Wren called. “Don’t you want to dance?”

Florianne, as it happened, did not want to dance.

Wren found that suited her fine.

When Wren strode through the ballroom to the balconies where Celene, Briala, and Gaspard waited, she looked at them with cold detachment. Wren knew they were all complicit, that none of them were clean, but how much she cared about this had plummeted into the dust.

She stared Gaspard down as she pinned the blame for all of it on him, and gave the credit to Briala.

Wren saw the moment when she could have saved Gaspard’s life.

She let that one pass, too.

“Briala deserves a reward,” Wren said, looking Gaspard in the eye as she did so. “For all she’s done for you.”

“I believe you are correct,” Celene said, reaching out and taking Briala’s hand. “Take him away.”

Wren knew her presence at the Empress’ side during the speech was calculated. Wren’s armor was white and gold, and now streaked with Florianne’s blood. Wren was a warning to others. Look what will happen to even the greatest of you if you cross me.

It didn’t matter, Wren decided. Orlais was stable. The war was over.

 

* * *

 

Wren slipped out to the balcony.

“The Orlesian nobility make drunken toasts to your victory, and yet you are not present to hear them?” she heard from behind her.

Wren turned. Morrigan sashayed up beside her, ever elegant.

“Ah, Lady Morrigan,” Wren said.

“Do you tire so quickly of their congratulations, Inquisitor? ‘tis most fickle, after all your efforts on their behalf,” Morrigan said.

“Mmm,” Wren said, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “The toasts took up all the punch, and I wouldn’t want to embarrass them by pointing that out.”

Morrigan chuckled. “I see. I wonder how you’ll feel about this, sober as you are. By Imperial decree, I have been named liaison to the Inquisition. Celene wishes to offer you any and all aid - including mine. Congratulations.”

Wren paused.

“How do you feel about the appointment?” Wren asked carefully.

“I am not opposed,” Morrigan said. “I have knowledge you will need, Inquisitor. Ancient magics are at play, and I am certain I am best suited to assist.”

Wren thought about this for a moment, but only just. She’d never hesitated before about bringing new people into the Inquisition, and she didn’t feel the need to start now.  Her instincts told her that Morrigan was correct, and as in chess, she tended to trust the patterns she liked.

“The Inquisition welcomes you, Morrigan,” Wren said. “I hope we’ll be able to help one another.”

“A most gracious response,” Morrigan said, her voice warm with approval. “I will meet you at Skyhold.”

She swept away, and Wren leaned over the balcony rail.

Footsteps behind her again. She contemplated jumping off and running, but instead steeled herself for another-

“There you are! Everyone’s been looking for you,” Cullen said.

Wren closed her eyes, nearly sagging in relief. She heard him walk up beside her, then felt the press of his arm against hers as he leaned down next to her.

“Things have calmed down for the moment,” he said. She opened her eyes and looked over.  His face grew concerned as he looked at her.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

Wren chuckled weakly.

“It has been,” she said, “a very long day.”

“For all of us,” he agreed. “You most of all, I imagine.” He stood up a bit, leaning away to give her space. Wren tilted, listing away to watch him. He was so handsome in that stupid suit, all red and gold and blue.  She felt a terrible urge to cover him in her lipstick, to mark him and muss him and warn others away.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t have people grabbing my person all night. Did you manage to avoid being up married off to a horrible Orlesian noble I’ll have to learn to like?” Wren asked.

Cullen couldn’t entirely mask the look of dismay that swept across his face. “Somehow,” he said, “though I was worried for a while that Leliana might sell me off just for fun. She kept watching me with the most amused expression.”

“I’d rescue you. I’m sure that’s in my job description somewhere,” Wren said. “Along with foiling assassinations, dancing with murderesses, and kicking people out of windows.”

He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder.

“I know it’s foolish,” he said, “but I was worried for you tonight.”

Wren reached up and put her hand over his, just for a moment. “Me too,” she said. “There was every chance I was going to mess this one up.”

“I doubt that,” he said. “You were- amazing.” His voice was warm with admiration.

Wren turned her face slightly away, trying to avoid blushing.

“I did enough,” she said. “I hope.”

The music started inside again. They both turned to look at the open doorway.

“I- may never have another chance like this,” Cullen said, “so I must ask.” He stood up and looked at her.

“Hmm?” Wren asked, standing up and looking at him curiously. He was nervous. Why was he-

“May I have this dance, my lady?” he asked, holding out his hand.

“Really?” Wren said without thinking. She put her hand in his.

“Yes,” he said. “Unless you’d rather not?”

“Oh! I- would like to,” she said. “I just- I thought you didn’t dance. Everyone was talking about it all night, how you wouldn’t.”

He pulled her closer, carefully, one hand on her waist and another holding hers. They were standing close, so close, and as they took a gliding step backward he said quietly, “For you, I’ll try.”

One, two, three. One, two, three.

Careful, careful.

Wren’s body seemed to exist in pieces. Her waist, where his hand held her carefully. Her hand, where it pressed against his. She was caught up in the way he was looking at her, the focus and intent written across his face. She couldn’t look away, though part of her wanted to hide her face. Too close, not close enough, what she wanted but couldn’t have-

“You left the other night before I could talk to you,” he said quietly.

“It was late,” Wren said, ducking her head slightly to look at his shoulder. She felt her ears grow warm. “Besides, you told me to get down, so I did.”

“I should have been more specific,” Cullen said ruefully. “I was hoping you’d come inside.”

“Oh,” Wren said.

One, two, three. One, two, three.

“I wanted to thank you,” he said.

“It wasn’t any trouble,” Wren said quickly.

“Just the same,” Cullen said. “No one has sung for me since… well, since I was a small boy, best I can remember.”

Wren looked back up at him, imagining him as a small boy. She couldn’t help smiling.

“I bet you were a handful,” she said, teasing. “All scruffy, running around with a stick, playing Templar and Apostate.”

He chuckled. “You’re probably right,” he said. “Are you sure you haven’t been talking to my siblings?”

“Are _you_ sure I haven’t been?” Wren asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cullen leaned back slightly and looked at her in an assessing sort of way. He led the dance over to the corner of the balcony, out of sight from the room.

“I… am not as sure as I’d like to be,” he said. “What have they told you?”

Wren grinned, almost wicked. “Nothing, of course,” she said.

“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked.

“Because you’re a clever man,” Wren said. “With good instincts.”

One, two, three. One, two, three. The music was heading toward an end.

“There you are,” Varric said.

Somewhere in his future writing, Varric was certain to use the image of Cullen and Wren turning quickly, nearly stumbling over themselves to let go of each other and act as if they hadn’t been dancing like Ferelden teenagers at a country dance.

“Leliana says we can likely make our escape soon,” Varric said. “Celene has one more speech, and then we can go.”

“Oh, thank the Maker,” Wren said.

Varric smirked. “That eager to get into my clothes, Birdy?”

“Oh, Varric,” Wren said, heaving an exaggerated lovestruck sigh, “always.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow, and Varric winked at him.

“Well, let’s-” Wren began, and then Cullen took her arm.

“A moment,” he said.

“Oh,” Wren said, pausing. She turned and looked at Varric. “I’ll be right there,” she said.

Varric grinned. “Sure,” he said.

He left the balcony, pulling the doors nearly closed behind him.

Wren turned back to Cullen.

“I… want to ask a favor,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Wren tilted her head and looked at him.

“Of course,” she said, “what is it?”

“When we’re back at Skyhold,” he said, “I’d like to speak to you about something.”

“Ah- that’s fine,” Wren said. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I- no. Please come find me when you have a moment,” he said.

Wren nodded.

There was an awkward sort of pause, and then Wren held out her hand.

“Shall we go back, so that we can get out of here?” she asked. “If you stick with me, I promise nobody will touch you. I’ll bite them if they try.”

Cullen chuckled. “Thank you,” he said.

He took her hand and squeezed it, then bent his arm and placed her hand at his elbow.

They walked over and opened the doors.


	24. Or, Pots Boil Over

Josephine was utterly delighted with the experience of travelling home with Wren and the inner circle. The trip to Halamshiral had been a solemn affair, overshadowed by the event to come, but the utter relief of their success left everyone in high spirits.

Wren spent part of the first day doing impressions of people at the Winter Palace. She did a particularly scathing send up of Cullen’s admirers, fluttering a handful of fallen leaves in place of a fan and simpering over one of the Templar recruits. The poor man almost fell over trying to figure out where to look, which Wren declared was quite nearly accurate. Had Cullen been near enough to overhear, Josie was almost certain he’d have objected.

Varric told increasingly wild stories about things he’d seen and heard. Sera helped, adding in comments and telling her own tales in the middle of his. Bull’s favorite story was about how the nobles reacted to Bull and Wren dancing. (Equal parts horror and fascination, according to Varric.)

That story led to Wren and Bull replicating their dance once they made camp for the evening. The height disparity was a bit awkward, but somehow the pair of them managed to be elegant all the same. Bull was careful with Wren, holding her lightly and almost delicately in his hands. Wren looked like a tiny princess, despite her dusty leathers and mussed pigtails. The mage that played the violin to accompany them seemed just as taken by the scene as anyone else, nearly missing the final bar in her distraction.

After that, Bull asked Josie to dance, and Wren dragged Sera out. Bull was very polite and formal with Josie, but Wren and Sera quickly gave up on propriety and moved into parody. Cassandra shook her head and asked if they were dancing “the randy nobleman and the fainting maiden”, which sent both rogues into peals of laughter.

Come morning, Wren signalled that it was time to move out by singing a call and response to the troops.

“Oh good ale!” she sang out, hands cupped around her mouth, then waited for the reply.

The Templar next to Cullen startled the Commander when he bellowed in return, “Thou art my darling!”

A woman at the back responded, “Thou art my joy both night-”

Wren finished it with, “-and morning!”

Josie waited for the rest of the song, but it didn’t manifest. Other songs did, however - largely sailing songs, full of joy over the prospect of returning home after a long voyage. That night Wren led a few of the men in a boisterous version of “What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor”, and Blackwall joined them. He had a remarkably good singing voice, and a bloodthirsty enthusiasm for the verses.

The next morning, after the call and response, Josephine pulled her horse up next to Wren’s.

“Is there more to that song?” Josie asked.

“Oh, sure,” Wren said.

“Now it is of good ale to you I sing,” she sang, her voice rising to fill the area, “and to good ale I’ll always cling. And I’ll drink down all you cares to bring if you’d only fill me mug to the brim. Oh good ale!”

The troops picked up the chorus with her. “Thou art my darling! Thou art my joy, both night and morning!”

One of the Templars sang the next verse, terribly, but enthusiastically. “‘tis you that helps me with me work, and from a task I’ll never shirk, while I can get a good home brew - and better than one pint, I likes two. Oh good ale!”

The chorus again, and then a scout took up the verse.

“It is you that makes me friends me foes, ‘tis you that makes me wear old clothes. But since you comes so near me nose, it’s ups you comes and downs you goes. Oh good ale!”

Josephine was amazed at how easily it fell into place. She’d read the reports about Wren singing with the troops, being generally jolly and cajoling, but she’d thought they were a bit exaggerated. It seemed not - this was far too practiced to be improvisation.

“Now if a lad should me despise,” a mage sang, “how quickly I’d give him two black eyes. But if he’d love me as I love thee, what a lovely couple we should be. Oh good ale!”

The chorus grew louder as more of the troops sang along.

Wren sang the last verse again. “You have cost me debts and I’ve often swore, ‘I never will drink strong ale no more’. But you all that I shall forgive, so I’ll drink strong all for as long as I live. Oh good ale!”

“Thou art my darling! Thou art my joy, both night and morning!”

Seamlessly, Wren moved them on to another song, this one about whisky being the life of man.

Josephine was almost sad to see Skyhold through the clouds late that afternoon.

 

* * *

 

It was a full two days before Wren had time to think about seeking out Cullen. The first day was a loss - she spent it soaking in the tub and reading reports, then had a picnic with Solas in the garden. They spent the meal discussing Halamshiral, the anchor’s effects on her personality (none, as far as she could tell), and various points of history and magical theory.

“Has all this given you more faith in the Maker?” Solas asked.

“You’re assuming I had faith in the Maker to begin with,” Wren said, sipping her cider.

“I am. Do you not?” Solas asked, raising an eyebrow. “You do invoke him fairly often.”

“I was raised in a Chantry,” Wren pointed out. “I can sing the Chant until my tongue goes numb, but that only means I've been trained to do it. If you’re asking if I believe in the Maker in proper Andrastean style - no.”

Solas tilted his head and looked at her with an inscrutable expression.

“I can’t say he doesn’t exist,” Wren said, gesturing with her mug. “He may well do, and that’s fine. We saw what could have been the Black City, after all. Something may have been there, if not now then once.”

“The Herald of Andraste isn’t Andrastean,” Solas mused.

“Well, culturally I’d argue that I am,” Wren said. “But no, I don’t ascribe to the religion exactly.”

“What do you believe, then?” he asked.

“In everything and nothing, I suppose. Show me proof that the Elven gods aren’t shut away somewhere like legends say,” Wren said. “They may well be. What of the lady of the skies that Sky Watcher talks about?”

“You’re comparing the Elven gods to the spirits of the Avaar?” Solas asked, frowning.

“And why not?” Wren said. “I’m comparing them to the Maker as well, after all.”

Solas leaned back and looked at her.

“I’ve been in the Chantry. I’ve seen what they do to their people. I don’t trust them to have the only truth. If they did have it, they’d use it as a weapon,” Wren said. “You’ve sniped at Loranil and the Dalish we’ve met about how they don’t know anything. Well, maybe they have parts of a truth, even though they don’t have all of it. Maybe everyone has bits and pieces.”

“The Dalish are children playing pretend,” Solas said dismissively.

Wren laughed. “You think humans are basically useless, Qunari are mindless brutes, elves are hopeless children, and dwarves are boring,” she said. She set down her mug and leaned forward. “You act like I’m an exception, but I’m not. You only think so because we’re friends.”

Solas shook his head.

“I have met many people on my travels,” he said. “I believe you are different from the others, my own feelings aside.”

“You can’t put your feelings entirely aside, Solas,” Wren said. “I try to make the best choices I can, but I know sometimes they’re pushed along by things that are far from rational.”

“Such as your behaviour at the Winter Palace,” Solas said.

“I’d ask what you’re talking about in particular, but it hardly matters,” Wren said. “It all was, from the moment we woke up that morning to the moment we left.”

“And yet,” Solas said, “you made decisions which stabilized all of Orlais and saved many lives. Perhaps I am guilty of oversimplifying, Inquisitor, but you are similarly guilty of downplaying yourself.”

“Maybe,” Wren said, frowning.

“We may yet have more to learn from one another,” Solas said musingly.

“Oh, I hope so,” Wren said.

The second day Wren left her room wearing Varric’s shirt, which she’d spent the night before altering to hug her body in the same sort of way it hugged Varric’s (much wider) chest. She kept it unhooked to the same depth he did. They’d had a discussion while at camp about how the shirt wouldn’t have quite the same effect for Wren that it did for Varric due to her lack of chest hair, and she was hoping to prove him wrong.

If she looked a bit tumbled, well, it added to her argument.

When she arrived in the hall to show him her work, he was already in what looked to be a tense conversation with another dwarf - a woman with a sarcastic smile which faltered when she saw Wren.

“Well, this a surprise,” the woman said. “You’re the Inquisitor, right?”

“Guilty,” Wren said, nodding and giving her a benignly pleasant smile.

“Bianca Davri, at your service,” Bianca said.

“A pleasure, Bianca,” Wren said. “I take it you’re a friend of Varric’s?”

“Who isn’t a friend of Varric’s? You have met him before, right?” Bianca asked.

Something in the smugly familiar way Bianca was treating Varric made Wren's back teeth itch.  Wren’s smile took on a subtly wicked edge. She crossed her arms under her breasts to shove them up slightly higher.

Bianca frowned.

Wren chuckled.  “Well, any friend of Varric’s is welcome here,” Wren said.

“If you can say that, then you haven’t met many of his friends,” Bianca said with a smirk.

“Do you not get along with them? How odd,” Wren said.

Varric shot her a look that was part warning, part plea, and Wren smiled politely, uncrossing her arms and backing down.

“What brings you to Skyhold, Bianca?” Wren asked.

They discussed red lyrium shipments coming out of a thaig in the Hinterlands, a situation which concerned Wren enough that she made an immediate promise to head there as soon as a party could be assembled. They’d nearly tracked Samson to his den - if they could cut more of his supply chains, it could only help in their efforts to bring the red Templar leader down.

She ran off to the war room to leave notes on the matter for the meeting later, then stopped by Josie’s desk to swipe a chocolate and show off her stitch work on the shirt.

Wren spent the rest of the afternoon talking to everyone she could find. She planned on seeing Cullen last, but just before she’d have gone to the tower Blackwall wanted to have a drink with her. She and the Warden wound up spending the evening having a dour and faintly troubling conversation about dogs, death, and relative morality. Wren had walked him back to the stables and stood next to him by the fire, staring at it quietly for a time.

Eventually she turned to him and hugged him, perhaps a bit too tight. He held her like a man drowning.

“You’re a good man,” she told him. “It doesn’t matter if you weren’t always. You would save that dog now, and that matters.”

He heaved a heavy breath and said quietly, “Thank you, my lady.”

Wren felt anxious in a way she couldn’t place after she left the stable, and so she went to bed early.  She lay awake for hours, thinking.

She stumbled into the war room the next morning, barely awake. Her hair was a tousled mess. She hadn’t bothered changing out of her sleep shirt, though she’d managed to put on pants and boots. Her eyes were half closed, and she yawned so expansively that she had to cover her face with both hands.

Cullen looked across at her and shook his head a little.

She looked up and met his eyes, then smiled in a sleepy, besotted sort of way. His eyes went wide at her expression, which shook her out of it. She cleared her face and looked down at the map.

“Sorry,” she said. “Sorry, not awake yet. What’s going on in the world?”

She gestured toward the table in an expansively nonspecific manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise for the lack of video to accompany this song. It's called "Good Ale", and the version I've adapted is by the Pyrates Royale.


	25. Or, In The Tower

Wren was sitting on his desk when he walked into his office. She was always sitting on his desk for some reason - she claimed it was because she wanted to be taller, but Wren was not particularly short to begin with. He suspected it had more to do with tweaking him than anything else. It was another idiosyncrasy, like her stealing clothes from everyone else, or the way she tore sweet rolls apart.

She was reading a report aloud, and imitating his voice while she did it. The mimicry was… uncomfortably accurate. She was facing away from him and hadn’t noticed him come in, so he had the chance to quietly close the door and lean against it to listen.

“Seeker Pentaghast’s requests regarding the drills are unreasonable, however well-intentioned,” she said, inflecting his voice with patience and an undercurrent of irritation. “We simply do not have the forces in Skyhold to accommodate that many training variations on a daily basis. Many of our men are out in the field at any given time. Skyhold could not contain the numbers if we called them home for extra training.”

She flipped the page. This time, she did Cassandra’s voice. The imitation was less practised, but still quite good.

“I am certain you will have heard from Commander Cullen about how unreasonable he thinks I am being-” Wren read, and then started to skim, filling in with her own interpretations. “I have high standards, I understand they’re unreasonable, I don’t care, I am fretting because I’ve read everything in the library that I wanted to read. I should have a cider with the Inquisitor and relax before I drive the Commander around the bend.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Cullen said. “I’m not that unstable.”

Wren squeaked and dropped the report on the desk. She turned as far as she could without jumping down, peering over her shoulder at him.

Cullen walked around until he was facing her, then leaned back against the wall. She turned to watch him the whole way.

“I had thought that the troops were exaggerating about your impression of me,” he said, “but I think I gave you too little credit.”

“I, ah, practice,” Wren said, slightly embarrassed.

“So I heard. Can you do anyone else?” he asked.

“Mmm,” Wren agreed. “I can do a passable version of most of the inner circle. My Cole is fairly terrible, but I’m working on it.”

She reached over and picked up the report she’d been reading before.

“I’m meant to give you my decision on this,” she said, “but really, does it need one? Just do whatever you think is best. Cassandra will grouse, but she’ll get over it.”

Cullen chuckled and stepped forward to take the paper. He skimmed it, then set it on the desk.

“I like your tower,” Wren said. She looked around a moment, then added, “I like Skyhold. You know what’s nice? Being here, and not in Orlais.”

“I’d be perfectly happy never setting foot in the Winter Palace again,” Cullen said.

“I’m sorry they treated you so badly there,” Wren said. “They all need better manners.” She sounded deeply annoyed.

“It’s fine,” Cullen said, sighing.

Wren shook her head. “‘tisn’t,” she said. Wren pulled her mouth tight with something much closer to anger. “Bunch of feral monsters. Nobility, honestly. Leliana told me you had to pretend you were already taken so that they would leave you alone.”

“It didn’t work,” Cullen noted somewhat bitterly. Maker, when he thought about it, he could still feel the bite of the fear that had hunted him the entire evening. It was as if they’d known they were reminding him of his nightmares, and it only made them plague him more.

“I’m sorry, duckling,” Wren said. “It was a good try. Next time I’ll just bite ‘em.”

Cullen chuckled, shaking his head to clear his thoughts. “I’m not sure Leliana would approve of that,” he said.

“Who can say, with Leliana,” Wren said philosophically.

Cullen shook his head.

“At least there was dancing,” Wren pointed out, eyes sparkling.

“Or an attempt at it, anyway,” Cullen said.

“Hey now, I thought you did well,” Wren said. She leaned forward and smiled at him.

Cullen rolled his eyes, and Wren flicked her finger against his breastplate.

“Don’t talk shite about my friends, Commander,” Wren scolded.

“I’m grateful for your poor taste in dance partners,” Cullen said, as if he were conceding the point somehow.

Wren crossed her arms. “I liked that dance the best, and I’ll have you know I have very good taste.”

“I watched you dance with Bull and Dorian, both far better dancers than I was,” Cullen said, he hoped sensibly and not with any of the jealousy he felt niggling at his mind. She’d looked so elegant with them.

“If it wasn’t the best technical display of the evening, who cares?” Wren said. “I would have thought it was best even if all we’d managed was stumbling in a circle.”

“Isn’t that what we did?”

“Nonsense. You’re teasing me now,” Wren said. “I liked that dance best because it was with you, and you can’t talk me out of that.”

“Ah-” Cullen rubbed the back of his neck. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

She made a face and poked him in the chest.

“I’m going to have my name tattooed on your-”

“ _Wren_. Wren,” Cullen hastened to correct himself.

She beamed her approval.

“I didn’t just come to give you the report decision,” Wren said. “You said in Halamshiral that you wanted to speak to me about something when we were back. Do you have time now?”

“I-”

Cullen thought about what he wanted to say. He still didn’t know how he was going to make the words make sense. He had to tell her how he felt, had to get it out in the open, but-

At Halamshiral, he’d thought about it, nearly said something, but if she’d said yes… he didn’t want that memory tied up in the palace. He wanted to remember that here, at Skyhold.

Of course, he hadn’t considered how terrible it would be if she rejected him.

“Cullen?” Wren leaned forward, peering at him. “Are you still in there? You’ve gotten stuck in your head,” Wren said.

“Ah- sorry,” he said. “I just- don’t quite know how to say-”

“Did this sound much better in your head?” Wren asked.

“No,” Cullen confessed. “In my head it never works out either.”

“Oh dear,” Wren said.

His thoughts raced. He tried to gather them into something like a proper statement, but the more he tried the more it eluded him. The silence was growing longer, and he could feel himself blushing. Maker, this kept getting worse.

Wren reached out with both hands and leaned over. She grabbed his mantle and pulled. He stepped closer, and she smiled.

“Whatever it is,” she coaxed, “I’m certain it won’t be half as embarrassing as having me sitting on your roof singing love songs in the middle of the night.”

“I wasn’t embarrassed,” Cullen said. "It was nice."

“ _I_ was,” Wren said, as if this were obvious.

“Why?” Cullen tried to read her face, but she was suddenly avoiding meeting his eyes.

“I-”

Wren grew still. “It’s just that, ah- well, there’s a bit of- hrm.”

She slid her hands off his mantle and set them flat on top of her thighs.

“It’s hard to sing a love song when it means something," she said, the words tumbling out quickly. "When you're singing to someone you fancy."

_Someone you fancy._

Cullen’s mind slowed down. _She fancied him._

“You…” he said, his thoughts trailing off.

“Ah- yes,” Wren said. “I probably shouldn’t have said, I mean- I-”

She made a distressed noise and looked down at her hands.

“I can’t say I haven’t wondered what I would say to you in this situation,” he said slowly, buying himself time. It wasn't quite the truth. He'd spent his time trying to think of how to tell her how much _she_ meant to _him_ , how the thought of her kept him going on the worst days, how he wanted to-

“Oh?” Wren still refused to look at him, but now her fingers were tensing on her legs, curling into the muscle. “Did you come up with anything?”

“I wish I had,” he said. “That would make this easier.”

Wren sighed.

“I’ll help,” she said. “What happens next is that you tell me that you’re flattered, but that I’m-”

“You’re the Inquisitor,” he said, as if he were following the script. “We’re at war, and-”

Cullen stepped closer. Wren's gaze snapped over to him, surprised by the movement. Her eyes met his and held.

“-I didn’t think it was possible,” he said, his voice softer.

Wren’s lips parted with a tiny sharp inhale. He could see her throat bob as she swallowed. His gaze caught on her mouth, so often the subject of his thoughts. The way it quirked up at the corners, the way she bit her lower lip when she was anxious, the way it had looked glossed with dark red stain at the dance, like a warning he wanted to defy.

He looked back up at her eyes again.

“Why not?” she asked, struggling for words.

“After everything- you haven’t seen me at my best,” he said.

“I like what I’ve seen,” she said.

“I threw a box at your head,” Cullen pointed out.

“That doesn’t count,” she said firmly. “You didn’t know I was there.”

“I-”

“I’m still here,” Wren said.

“So you are,” he said. Finally, as quickly as he could speak, the words came.

“At the Winter Palace I told them I was taken, because I am, with you. It seems too much to ask,” he said, his voice a rumble, “but I want to.”

“Cullen,” Wren whispered.

Cullen reached up and touched her face, sliding his thumb along her cheek. He tipped her chin, and leaned closer. "May I?" he asked, barely audibly.

Wren pulled her lower lip between her teeth nervously, just for a moment.

"Yes," she breathed, " _Please._ "

He leaned in slowly, closing the gap between them. His lips met hers, feather light, as if he were afraid she would disappear at first contact. A shiver ran down his spine. It was almost like a dream, but Maker, his dreams hadn’t been like this in years. He felt as if his heart was going to pound out of his chest.

Wren smiled under his lips and slid her fingers under the edge of his breastplate. She tugged, and he stepped closer. He dropped his hand from her face and reached out to hold her waist, grounding himself with the feel of her. She was warm under his hands, warm and strong and _real_.

He kissed her again, harder this time, surer. She met him eagerly, nearly breathless. She pulled away just enough to gently nip his lower lip with her teeth, looking at him under lowered lids when he made a rumbling noise of pleasure. She kissed the spot she'd bitten, pressing her tongue gently against the sting. He caught her lips again, a shiver running down his back. His head swam, and he could only focus on her, the way she felt, the way she tasted, the way she sounded.

He had to stop, had to breathe, had to look at her. He pulled away, but his fingers tightened on her waist. He was half breathless when he managed to find words again.

“That was, um…” he whispered.

Wren was looking at him with those eyes, those Maker-blessed dark green eyes, and they shone with something very like the same euphoria that was pounding at his chest.

“Really nice,” he whispered. It was hardly enough, damning with faint praise, but if she noticed, she didn’t care. She smoothed her fingers through his hair, then put her hands on his face.

“Yes,” she said, half whispered, and then repeated it, louder. “Yes.” Her voice wavered. She pulled him close to kiss him again, firmly and quickly. She pulled back and smiled, light and easy. She rubbed her thumbs over his cheeks and kissed him again. A wave of relief and happiness hit him, and he couldn't help the smile that took over his face. As he pulled away she started to giggle, an absolutely giddy sound, the most joyful thing Cullen had heard in an age. She almost glowed with it.

“This is real,” she said, as if this were a wonder the likes of which she’d never seen. She looked at him, just looked, and then kissed him again quickly.

“It is,” Cullen confirmed. He suspected he sounded equally as stunned as she had.

“Quick, before I forget - what did you want to talk to me about?” Wren asked.

Cullen smiled. “This. I was going to tell you how I- that I- this. I’m not sure what I was going to say, but-”

“You were?” she asked.

He rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head. “Ah- yes,” he said. “I wasn’t sure how it would come out, but I was going to try.”

“It couldn’t have been as bad as planning your own escape while you blurted out that you fancy someone you’re sure will send you away,” Wren said.

“I beg to differ. It would have been worse. I’d have babbled something about thinking of you far too much, far too fondly, and then I’d have apologised at least three different ways,” he said.

“As long as it still ended this way, I wouldn't have objected,” Wren said. She smiled at him again, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Maker, he felt so light, as if he were years younger.

Who kissed whom this time, it was nearly impossible to say. It hardly mattered.

Knight-Captain Rylen leaned on the doorjamb, arms crossed. He’d opened the door two minutes before, but hadn’t been sure what he was seeing. Or rather, that what he was seeing wasn’t some trick of his tired mind.

He backed out of the room again and shut the door.

“Good on them,” Rylen said to himself as he headed for the tavern to check the list. Whoever had today in the pool would owe him a pint.

 

* * *

 

“So, you and Curly, huh?” Varric asked.

Wren looked over at him. “Is there more to that question?” she asked.

“Just opening the door to conversation, Birdy,” Varric said.

Wren pretended not to notice when Cassandra pulled her horse up closer.

“I don’t want to shock you,” Wren said, “but I suspect he may fancy me a bit.”

Varric chuckled.

“So who won?” Wren asked.

“Now Inquisitor, what are you talking about?” Varric asked.

“Varric,” Wren said, rolling her eyes. “You ran the pool. You know what I’m talking about.”

“When did you find out about that?” Varric asked.

“Last night,” Wren said, “when Bull asked me why I couldn’t have ‘jumped the guy two weeks ago’.”

Varric shook his head. “You’d think a spy would be sneakier.”

“I didn’t find out about it until two months ago,” Cassandra said.

“When did you have?” Wren asked.

“Inquisitor, I would never bet on-”

“Cassandra,” Wren said, staring down the other woman.

“...during the Winter Palace. It would have been very romantic,” the Seeker insisted.

Wren considered this a moment.

“If I were a braver soul,” Wren said, “you might have won. I nearly told him at the Palace, but then I couldn’t.”

“You throw yourself at giants! How much braver would you need to be?” Cassandra asked incredulously.

“Giants can’t reject me, Cassandra! They can only try to kill me, and I’m good at avoiding death,” Wren said.

“His feelings for you are so obvious!” Cassandra objected.

“To you, maybe,” Wren said.

“And almost everyone else in Skyhold,” Varric said, “for which I thank you. My percentage more than covered labor.”

“I’m glad I could help,” Wren said.

Varric was slightly troubled at his inability to tell if Wren was being sarcastic or not.

 

* * *

 

“You’ll _feed me my own eyeballs_?” Wren looked at the swiftly retreating figure of Varric leaving the room, then grabbed Bianca’s hood and yanked.

The dwarven woman made a strangled sound. She whirled around with death in her eyes, reaching for her dagger.

“I don’t know what happened between you and Varric,” Wren said, ignoring Bianca’s reaction. “He doesn’t talk about it, so all I have to go on is that he either is or was in love with you, you’re married to someone else, and he’s not supposed to have contact with you. Am I wrong yet? No?”

Bianca scowled. “What’s your point?” she asked.

“I’m going to assume that you love him, because I can’t imagine anyone not loving Varric,” Wren said. “So if you’re worried about him, let me assure you - the only thing that could hurt Varric that I won’t die trying to protect him from is you.”

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, _Inquisitor_ ,” Bianca said.

“Insinuating? Nothing. I’m _telling_ you. You have an arrow lodged in his heart and you can tap the fletching any time you please to make him twitch. You’re more a danger to him than I am,” Wren said. “I can’t save him from that, and he wouldn’t want me to, but everything else? You’ll never be able to feed me my eyes, Bianca. I’ll have died already trying to keep him alive.”

Biana crossed her arms and stared at Wren. Wren mirrored her, arms crossed over her chest, staring down at Bianca.

“If it could be different-” Bianca began.

Wren waited.

“But it can’t,” Bianca said.

“You can’t change it,” Wren said, “but you can’t stay where you are, either. You’re both clutching a corpse. Whether you let it go or hold it until it rots in your hands, that’s your call.”

Bianca looked over her shoulder, then back at Wren.

“You’ll look out for him,” Bianca said, both as confirmation and a threat.

“I will,” Wren said.

Bianca nodded, sharply.

“I will hold you to that, Inquisitor. Let’s go,” Bianca said, “before he loses patience and comes back for us.”

 

* * *

 

“What did you and Bianca talk about back there?” Varric asked.

“Oh, lady things,” Wren said flippantly. “You know, lipstick, gatlok, lace, shivs.”

“Really.”

“Mmm.”

Varric scowled.

Wren shrugged. “She has some interesting theories on torque,” Wren said casually.

A raven flew down and circled until Wren put out her arm. The bird landed, and Wren slipped it a treat before taking the note from the bird’s leg band.

“Inquisitor,” she read aloud. “We have received word that in one week’s time there will be multiple guests arriving at Skyhold. You and your party should return as swiftly as possible. Unless there are serious delays, Hawke will be arriving with Fenris in five days. We did know they were coming, but I admit this is sooner than past reports indicated. We have also received a sealed letter from King Alistair that you will need to see for yourself. Please let Varric know that we have, as he expected, received a grateful letter and announcement of an intended state visit from the-”

Wren looked over at Varric, almost glowering.

“ _Prince of Starkhaven_ ,” Wren finished. “Also, I do not need to remind you that Satinalia is in two weeks time, and you have yet to inform me of the reason for the- nevermind, the rest of this isn’t important.”

Wren fed the raven again, then turned in her saddle to set the bird on the perch she’d had affixed to the back of the horse’s armor.

She exhaled carefully.

“I will not scream,” Wren said. “I will not scream. I will not scream.”

“Aw, come on Birdy, it’ll be fun!” Varric said, smirking. “One big happy family, at Skyhold for the holiday!”

“I have letters to write,” Wren said. “Soon. Today. Oh, Maker.”

“Notices to your next of kin, dear?” Vivienne asked.

“Something like that,” Wren said. “If I die, don’t let my family have my body. Give it to, I don’t know, Leliana. Or Solas, maybe. He and I have discussed that sort of thing before.”

“Satinalia is rarely fatal, Inquisitor,” Cassandra said.

“Rarely,” Wren said, “is not the same as never.”

 

* * *

 

Cullen sat at his desk for once, having put away the piles of books in an effort to keep his hands busy. He was more anxious than usual, and it was making his head throb. It wasn’t that Wren was out in the Hinterlands, or out at all - he had every confidence in her.

He _missed_ her. He still couldn’t quite believe his luck, that she thought of him, that she wanted him. Him, a broken former Templar. Could she have changed her mind since she’d gone? Maker, he hoped not. No, surely not. It was foolish to worry, but he couldn’t help it somehow. They’d made no promises, but-

He groaned and set his head on the desk. Ridiculous. This was ridiculous.

There was a knock at the door, and Cara entered.

“Three reports and two letters, Commander,” she said.

“Leave them on the desk,” he said. “I’ll get to them in a minute. Thank you.”

“Sister Leliana says your raven brought back this, as well,” Cara said. He picked up his head and watched the dwarven woman set down a stack of paper, and then a piece of river-tumbled glass.

Cara nodded, then left the tower. Cullen reached over and picked up the glass.

It was pale blue and fit neatly into the center of his palm. It was circular and slightly domed, with a hazy surface.

He held it up in the light from the window.

He hadn’t sent his raven out today though, had he? He was almost certain he hadn’t. Where had this come from?

He rifled through the letters. One from Mia -

_Cullen,_

_Branson, Rosalie, and I wanted to wish you a happy Satinalia. We’re going to the city to spend the holiday there, so I won’t be able to send another letter before then. I enlisted the Inquisitor to help arrange a present for you from us, so I hope you like it! Please be well._

_Love,_

_Mia_

And then a letter from Wren. There was something reassuring about just the sight of her writing, and he found himself smiling as he read.

_Commander,_

_We’ve cut off the red lyrium supply from this location. This should put a dent in Samson's works. I thought we would be out longer, but today's letters mean that we will instead be back in three days. Varric promises me that everything will be fine, but I don’t want to risk being away when they arrive. If we’re delayed, maybe lock Dorian in a cupboard for safety._

_I’ve been teaching this raven some tricks. I told it to bring you something shiny. I hope it didn’t bring you a beetle. That happened last time, and Leliana was not amused._

_Please look after yourself, and mark some time aside for me when we return. I have half a dozen stories to tell you, and a terrible need to kiss you, if that agrees with you. I hope it does._

_Varric caught me daydreaming by the campfire, and asked if I was thinking about you. I told him I was just thinking about the holiday coming up, but he was right. I was thinking of you. I always am._

She'd drawn a picture of a small bird at the bottom of the page. He recognised it as a finer version of the one that had been drawn on the slips of paper in the book she’d lent him back in Haven, but this one was singing. A small heart floated above the bird's open beak.

He slid a thumb over the bird before carefully tucking the letter away in his desk.


	26. Or, Return to Slumber

Wren rode across the bridge mostly asleep. She’d not slept much the night before, instead spending hours writing letters, worrying, and taking her few lucid hours to be the watch. Her horse may have been deeply creepy for everyone else, but it was quick and seemed to think in a way that the others didn’t. It was damned difficult to unseat the Inquisitor from her undead charger, regardless of how little the rogue was paying attention.

She woke up when the horse stopped inside the barn. Wren blinked in confusion, then shook her head.

“I’m not taking charge of that one,” Blackwall said with a grumble. “Unnatural, he is.”

“Don’t fuss,” Wren said, sliding out of the saddle. “He’s a good boy. Aren’t you, Carrion? That’s my handsome lad.”

She patted the horse affectionately.  It bobbed its head in voiceless pleasure.

Blackwall shuddered.

Back in the war room, Cullen paced and looked at the map. They had him. They had Samson’s location. Not only did they have Samson, but they had Calpernia. The key was the Shrine of Dumat.

For the fifth time he mapped out the course. How many days it would take, how many men, when they could leave without causing some kind of diplomatic crisis…

The war room doors opened, and Leliana walked in, followed closely by Josephine.

“The Herald and her party have returned,” Leliana said.

For a moment, the thought of Samson fled his mind entirely. _She was back._ A heady mix of panic and relief flooded through him.

Leliana chuckled.

The doors opened again. Wren and Varric walked in, each with stacks of paper in hand.

“I’m just saying,” Wren said, “it-”

She paused, looking from Varric to the war room.

“You’re all here already,” Wren observed.

“We’ve been eagerly awaiting your presence,” Leliana said. “Some of us more than others.”

Leliana cast her eyes over at Cullen with a knowing smirk.

Wren saw his skin redden under the scrutiny, then looked at Leliana and pouted.

“Did you not miss me, Leliana?” she asked. “I suppose I should bring you more presents.  I only brought something for Josie this time.”

“Oh!  A present, for me?” Josie asked.

“Indeed! I have here a letter from King Therin, inviting myself and ‘that nice Ferelden Commander’ to Denerim,” Wren said. She walked into the room, followed by Varric.

“Me?” Cullen asked. “Why am I invited?”

Wren pulled out the letter and unfolded it, then read aloud in a passable imitation of the King’s voice.

“Have Lady Montilyet sort out a visit. We can discuss military matters, or more likely have an uncomfortably fancy state dinner and then sneak off to talk about how terrifying Morrigan is. Bring that nice Ferelden Commander you have. I've heard good things about him.”

Cullen looked confounded.

“It won’t be for a while,” Wren said, folding the paper back up and tucking it away. “We have to be here for when Hawke and Fenris arrive, and for the holiday.”

“We have news for you as well, Inquisitor,” Leliana said.

“We found Samson,” Cullen said eagerly. “The trails to both Samson and Calpernia lead to the Shrine of Dumat.”

He pointed to the map. “Here,” he said.

Wren walked closer to the table. She looked at it with a scowl of concentration, then nodded.

“When is the soonest we can move on this?” Wren asked, looking at Josephine.

“You cannot possibly leave and return before the holiday.  We are celebrating Satinalia for the week,” Josie said, “and then having our largest celebration on the final day. I would suggest giving everyone a full day after that to recover, but you could leave the following day.”

“That’s longer than I’d like,” Wren said. “We can’t wait. It won't be long before they find out we've tracked them, and we might lose them again. I could leave early, just take a party of volunteers.”

“Not it,” Varric said.

“Well, of course you aren’t, Hawke will be here. Which reminds me, Ambassador.” Wren said. She looked at Josie with a hint of unease. "What’s going on with this Prince of Starkhaven business?”

“Ah. Leliana told me she’d mentioned that,” Josie said. “Don’t worry, Inquisitor. It won’t be for some time. The Prince is a devout man, and will be celebrating the holiday in Starkhaven. He was specific about arriving when it was most convenient for you. My last letter let him know that I would bring the matter to your attention. There will not be any surprise visits, I promise.”

Wren sighed in relief.

“Don’t worry, Birdy,” Varric said. “He’s a nice, boring man, and if Hawke is still here, she’ll plague him enough to entertain all of us and thoroughly distract him.”

“Inquisitor,” Cullen said.

Wren looked over at him.

“I would like to accompany you to the Shrine of Dumat." He looked at her, trying not to plead, though he was afraid he still sounded a bit desperate. "I knew Samson. I want to be there when we find him.”

Wren paused. Josie would hate this, but... “That’s fine,” Wren said. “I really would like to leave early, though. You’d have to miss the holiday.”

“This is far more important than a week of feasting,” Cullen said. He tried not to look at Josephine. He could feel the Antivan woman scowling at him.

“Inquisitor,” Josie said, “it would be quite inappropriate for the Herald of Andraste to miss one of the biggest Andrastean holidays.”

“Even if she’s doing the Maker’s work?” Wren asked. “I could wait to leave until after Hawke arrives. Surely having the Champion here would be sufficiently distracting for everyone. This is important, Josie.”

“So are the people,” Josephine said. “They need to see you. They’re here in no small part because you are the Herald of Andraste.”

Wren crossed her arms and shook her head.

“I doubt Corypheus will be giving everyone time off for feasting,” Wren said. “I want to be here, you know I do, but this is more important.”

“I have to agree,” Leliana said. “This information will not wait.”

“With any luck, we should have Samson and Calpernia in hand by the final day of feasting,” Wren said. “We can send a raven back and then you’ll have news to celebrate.”

“I do not like this,” Josephine said.

“I promise we’ll do the next holiday up properly,” Wren said.

Josie shook her head. “I will do my best to smooth this over,” she said. “I will hold you to this promise about the next holiday. Firstday, you will be here.”

“I promise,” Wren said.

“In a dress.”

“A dress? Josie, I don’t-”

“No fussing, or I will allow Vivienne to design it.”

“Maker’s breath,” Wren said in a very Cullen sort of tone. “You win.”

“A proper party as well,” Josie said. “With cakes.”

“Whatever you like,” Wren said.

“Perhaps we could convince that strange Zither to play…” Josephine mused.

“Let’s discuss the thaig,” Varric suggested. “I have letters to write before Hawke and Elf arrive. I may even write to Choir Boy.”

Wren looked at him in a very pointed way.

“I won’t breathe a word, Birdy,” Varric said, patting her arm reassuringly.

Wren sighed.

 

* * *

 

Wren brought her stack of reports to Cullen’s office to read them while she waited for him to get done with drills after the war table meeting. She did that sort of thing often enough that she knew messengers could find her there without too much trouble, but it was just out of the way enough to buy her some space. Her own room was far too hard to sneak in and out of, unless she tied a rope to the balcony rails and slid down onto the walkway roof below.

Which, of course, she had never done. Would she do such a thing? Surely not.

She sat down sideways in her chair by the back wall. She threw her legs across one of the chair arms and leaned back. After a bit of sliding and shuffling, she found a generally comfortable position and settled in to read.

That was where Cullen found her when he returned from drills.

She was sleeping, arm slung over the back of the chair to hold her in place. A pile of reports lay on the floor where she’d dropped them. She looked terribly uncomfortable, but that hadn’t stopped her from napping.

He walked over, then crouched down and looked at her.

The only movement was the soft rise and fall of her chest. She didn’t twitch, shift, or snore. It was almost unsettling. Cullen knew he talked in his sleep, that he tossed and turned and generally woke with the bedding in disarray.

He wondered what it would be like to sleep next to her. Maker, what if he hit her with all his moving about?

Why was he worrying about this?

“Sweet Andraste,” he muttered to himself. He shook his head, then reached over and prodded Wren.

“Inquisitor,” he said.

She made an inelegant sound of displeasure and squinted her eyes closed tighter.

“Wren.”

She shifted slightly, then opened one eye a sliver. She squinted to focus, then looked at him.

“Hmm?” she hummed in a rough query.

She opened her eyes the rest of the way, then tried to sit up. The chair tipped dangerously to the side, and Wren squeaked as she tried to counterbalance it. The effort was unsuccessful - her legs were in the wrong position and she couldn’t throw her weight properly. The chair began to topple, Wren along with it.

Cullen swooped in and grabbed her, pulling her up and free. She caught his armor in her hands and held on, looking at him in confused non-comprehension.

The chair hit the floor with a clatter.

Wren looked at Cullen, then at the chair.

She started to giggle, then dropped her head down to press her forehead against Cullen’s shoulder.

“The leader of the Inquisition,” Wren said, “and I can’t even navigate a chair properly.”

Cullen chuckled.

“Were you trying to make a point about that couch again?” he asked, looking down at her.

“No,” Wren said, picking up her head again, “but now that you mention it, I ought to have been. I probably wouldn’t have a sore neck right now if I could have slept on that.”

They both seemed to realize at the same time how close they were. Her body was pressed to his side. His arm was around her back, with her arm thrown over his and his hand tight against her ribs. They were woven together, and at the moment he noticed, his grip tightened.

Wren’s smile took on an edge and her body became pliant under his hold, molding itself closer.

“Thank you for the rescue,” she said.

“Ah- you’re welcome,” he said, his gaze stuttering down toward her mouth and then back to her eyes again as if he were afraid of being caught looking.

She leaned over closer, then lifted her free hand and pressed her finger to the tip of Cullen’s nose. She pushed, just a little.

“Hi,” she said. Her voice was gently teasing.

“Hello,” he said quietly.

He reached up and took her hand in his, carefully, then pulled it down and kissed her knuckles.

The air left her lungs, and she found herself holding the breath she was meant to take.

Her fingers squeezed his.

Then- footsteps outside the door, and a knock.

“Commander?” Wren heard Wolfson say.

Cullen let go of Wren and pulled his arm back, dropping her hand quickly. He stepped away and looked toward the door.

“I protest,” Wren said.

She took a decisive step forward, grabbed Cullen by the front of his surcoat, and held fast. Wren rose up on her toes and kissed him firmly on the mouth.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, then grabbed her waist with both hands and pulled her against him. She twined her arms around his neck and leaned closer.

When she pulled away he pursued her, capturing her mouth again. She hummed her approval, stretching up as tall as she could to get closer. His fingers clenched around her waist and she felt rather than heard the rumble in his chest.

There was another knock, harder now.

“Commander?” Wolfson asked again.

Wren pulled away and dropped back on her heels with a reluctant sigh.

Cullen let her go, but couldn't resist letting his hands trail along her sides as she stepped away.

“What is it?” Cullen asked.

Wren walked over and propped up the chair, picking up her reports again.

Wolfson opened the door.

“Sister Nightingale sent me to talk to you about the Shrine of Dumat mission,” Wolfson said.

“What about it?” Wren asked.

Wolfson turned and looked at her.

“Ah, Inquisitor,” Wolfson said. “I want to volunteer.”

“It’ll be nearly a month,” Wren pointed out. “Ten days out, ten days back, at least three days for business, not counting weather or complications. You’ll miss Satinalia.”

“It’ll happen wherever we are,” Wolfson said with a shrug. “Besides, Trevelyan, you want me with you.”

“Do I?” Wren asked. “Is your timing going to improve in the next forty-eight hours?” She gave him a significant look.

“Seems unlikely,” Wolfson said, “but in penance I will hand pick your scouts and guards. All volunteers, all properly informed. Think of the time I'm saving you, Little Bird.”

“Wolfson,” Wren said, “You make a good argument. I would kiss you, but I’m currently busy kissing someone else.”

“You clearly aren’t, since we're talking right now,” Wolfson said. “Keep pretending you are, though, if it keeps you from getting that close to me.”

“I am, though,” Wren said, “by using the power of my formidable imagination.”

“Rein it in, Trevelyan,” Wolfson said.

“I’m thinking about it _right now_ ,” Wren said.

“Well _stop_ ,” Wolfson said.

Wren smiled with a bit of wicked humor. “Have it your way. I can think about other things," she said. Her voice went a bit breathy. "My goodness, such a lot of-”

“Andraste’s tits, Trevelyan, just tell me I’m in the party so I can leave!” Wolfson yelped.

“You’re in,” Wren said, grinning. “We leave in three days.”

Wolfson bowed slightly. “Your Worship, Commander, I’ll be going then.”

He turned and left the tower.

Wren burst into laughter.

Cullen leaned back against his desk.

“Such a lot of…?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Reports, of course,” Wren said, opening her eyes wide. “So very many, Cullen. Stacks and stacks of paper.”

“Of course,” Cullen said.

“Let’s get some of this business done with,” Wren said, tapping her papers with a flicked finger. “Tell me more about this shrine.” 

 


	27. Or, Prepare the Preparations

Wren walked into the rotunda and looked around the main room. No Solas - hmm. She’d meant to start with him. She figured he would be a good bet for this excursion, as he wasn’t Andrastean.

“Is that you, Inquisitor?”

Wren looked up. Dorian was leaning over the railing, peering down at her.

“Yes,” she said.

“Do come up, won’t you? I wanted to discuss something with you,” Dorian said.

Wren shrugged and headed for the stairs.

She walked over to meet him by the rail, and the two of them leaned against it.

“Have a thing for strapping young Templars, I hear,” Dorian said casually.

Wren turned at an angle and looked at him suspiciously.

“Mmm, what’s this about?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing. Just something I find rather adorable about you,” Dorian said, a pleased little smile quirking his lips.

Wren smirked. Dorian leaned over and pressed his shoulder against hers.

“Though, the first one wasn’t a Templar, was he? Just a prince,” Dorian teased.

“I didn’t care about the prince bit,” Wren said. “I had a thing about- oh, never mind.”

“No, no, do go on. What was it that drew you to the Prince of Starkhaven?” Dorian asked.

“Have you not seen pictures of him?” Wren asked.

“I’m afraid we don’t get many Marcher portraits in the Imperium,” Dorian said.

Wren turned and walked over to the bookshelves, running her fingers over the spines until she found the two volumes she wanted. She brought them over to railing and stuck one under her arm. The other she opened, flicking through it.

She cleared her throat.

“By nearly all accounts his attention was highly sought after by the ladies of court. Tales of his conquests were circulated among the aristocracy and common folk alike,” Wren read aloud. “Sebastian was charming, attentive, and if rumors can be believed, skilled in the arts of both love and war.”

She flipped a page and turned the book. “There he is at seventeen, which is only a bit older than I was when I found this book,” she explained.

Dorian looked at it critically.

“That’s a very small picture,” he said, scowling at the greyscale illustration of a reclining young man, face set with a cocky grin.

“My complaint exactly,” Wren said. She switched out for the other book - a larger volume, apparently about ‘Noted Chantry Members of the Free Marches’.

She set it on the rail and flipped through expertly, heading for a section toward the middle.

“There,” she said, opening the book nearly flat.

This time, it was a full color portrait of a man, red-brown hair swept back, tanned skin almost glowing under the light the painter had chosen. His eyes were an absolutely piercing blue, almost unreal. His perfectly drawn mouth was quirked up just a bit, as if he were amused by something the painter had said.

“Well,” Dorian said, voice warming with appreciation. “That is quite a different situation.”

“This isn’t the picture that was up in the Chantry in Ostwick,” Wren said, “this is later, from just before he was running around with Hawke. The picture we had was from just after he joined the Chantry and took vows. He was a bit younger, shorter hair, but he isn’t so different in this one that you can’t get the idea.”

“I see,” Dorian mused.

“I stand by my terrible choice,” Wren said, closing the book again. She took both the volumes and walked back to the shelves.

Dorian followed her over to the stacks and watched her file the books away in their places.

“Do you have similar visual aids to explain the King of Ferelden?” Dorian asked.

“No,” Wren said. “That was entirely based on stories.”

Wren leaned her shoulder against one of the bookcases. “The Hero of Ferelden and her companions were killing the archdemon while I was in my last year in Ostwick,” Wren said. “I ate up any information I could get about the Blight. When I knew I had to leave the Marches, I decided to go south, where it had all happened. I was sure that with King Therin and Queen Cousland in charge, it would be safe.”

“And the chaos of recovery after the Blight would help hide you,” Dorian said.

Wren nodded. “I arrived after the coronation and wedding. Part of how I made my way was being willing to muck in and help wherever I went,” Wren said. “People are willing to overlook a lot of strangeness if you’re helping them rebuild.”

She paused, then looked thoughtful.

“We both saw King Therin in Redcliffe,” she pointed out. “I don’t know about you, but I am prepared to defend my choice on that basis.”

Dorian laughed. “He isn’t quite my type,” Dorian said, “but I concede your point.”

“What _is_ your type?” Wren asked.

“Single,” Dorian said, winking.

Wren laughed.

“Your man Wolfson mentioned that you and the Commander are leading a party to the Shrine of Dumat. You _are_ planning on asking me to go, aren’t you? I’ll be quite put out if you leave me behind,” Dorian said.

Wren raised her eyebrows.

“You’d miss the holiday,” she said.

“Hardly. What I would miss is the opportunity to watch you and the Commander dance around your adorable blossoming relationship, and that would be a travesty.”

“I ought to leave you here just for that,” Wren said, making a face.

“You won’t,” Dorian said confidently.

“I won’t,” Wren agreed. “We leave in three days, give or take.”

“Talk to Sera next,” Dorian advised. “I’m certain she’ll want to go."

 

* * *

 

Wren headed to the tavern to find Sera, and discovered the girl sitting at a table with The Iron Bull, Krem, and Blackwall.

Wren walked over and leaned on the table.

“Ah, just who I wanted to see,” Bull said. “Pull up a seat, boss.”

Wren grabbed a chair and slid in to sit next to Blackwall. She leaned over and peered into his mug.

“Swill,” Sera declared, wrinkling her nose.

“It’s simple, respectable ale,” Blackwall rumbled.

“Swill,” Sera repeated.

Wren slid down in her chair, throwing an arm over the back and smiling contentedly.

“What did you need to see me about?” Wren asked.

“Heard you were going to the Shrine of Dumat,” Bull said.

“That’s right,” Wren said.

“Got a mage?” Bull asked.

“Yes,” Wren said. “Dorian pulled me aside already to tell me he was going.”

“Good,” Bull said. “Sera and I are in, too.”

“Damn right,” Sera said. “You need us. Beardy would be going, but he lost.”

“Lost?” Wren looked over at Blackwall and raised an eyebrow.

“He and Bull fought for it,” Sera cackled. “Bull won.”

“Why is everyone so eager to go on this one?” Wren asked, frowning. “We’re going to a shrine in the middle of nowhere.”

“But Cullen will be with us,” Sera said. Her eyes lit up with delight. “Your _Cullen-Wullen_. Can’t miss this.”

“Oh for the love of- what do you think is going to happen exactly? I’m not going to bend him over and take him in the middle of camp,” Wren said, rolling her eyes.

“Eugh, no thank you,” Sera said, making a face. “Don’t wanna see that.”

“Interesting that you’d choose that as an image,” Bull said, smirking.

“Regardless, that isn’t going to happen,” Wren said, waving a hand dismissively.

“Look at that,” Bull said, gesturing with his mug toward the door. “The man himself.”

Wren turned and looked over her shoulder. It was getting on toward evening now, and she did like how his hair glowed in the lamp light in the tavern. Her expression softened.

“Hey, Cullen,” Bull called out. “Come sit with us. We were just discussing-”

“ _Nothing of any interest_ ,” Wren said firmly.

Blackwall chuckled.

Cullen pulled a chair over and sat across from her next to Bull.

“We have a full party for the trip,” Wren said. “Bull, Sera, and Dorian.”

“Looking forward to seeing you in battle, Commander,” Bull said with a grin.

“Lookin’ forward to seein’ _you_ see _us_ in battle,” Sera said, nudging Blackwall. She frowned, then said, “Wait. Switch me places, Beardy.”

“What- hey!” Blackwall objected as Sera climbed over him and shoved herself over next to Wren.

Sera nudged Wren with her elbow. “Eh? Eh?” she said, winking.

Wren rolled her eyes. “He’s seen all of us fight before,” Wren pointed out.

“Not real battles. Not against enemies,” Sera said. “It’s different, yeah?”

“Mmm,” Wren said.

“What brings you in this evening, Commander?” Krem asked.

“Ambassador Montilyet has been sending me increasingly tense messages all afternoon,” Cullen said with a sigh. “The last scout looked as though he would happily throw himself off the battlements if it meant he didn’t have to bring another message back to her.”

“You’re hiding out,” Sera said.

“Yes,” Cullen agreed.

“What is she upset about?” Wren asked. “The trip?”

“In my accompanying you to the Shrine, yes,” Cullen said. “She says that having us both gone will severely harm morale. Nothing I say seems to assure her that things will be fine.”

Bull laughed.

“She’s thinking about this all wrong,” he said. “Let me talk to her.”

“What are you gonna say to Lady Josie?” Sera asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bull advised.

“Warden Blackwall, can I rely on you to help with the troops while we’re away?” Cullen asked.

Blackwall nodded. “Of course. I’ll take over training, if you like.”

“That would help,” Cullen said. “Harrison can handle minor matters, but I will feel better knowing you’re here.”

“Who’ll do your mountains of paperwork?” Wren asked.

“I’ll try to catch up before we leave,” Cullen said. “Cassandra agreed to manage things on that front while we’re away.”

“I can’t wait to see her reports,” Wren said. “She hates paperwork.”

“I know,” Cullen said, shaking his head. “But there’s no one else, and she did offer.”

“Commander?”

They all turned to look at the unhappy scout that stood wringing his hands nearby.

“Message from Ambassador Montilyet,” the man said.

Cullen sighed.

“It was a good try,” Wren said.

“Go on, scout,” Cullen said.

“Ser, the Ambassador says that she feels you underestimate the impact you have on the troops. She wishes to remind you that Satinalia is an important event and your absence will be noted.”

Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose.

Bull downed his drink and stood up.

“Tell you what,” he said to the scout. “I’ll take care of the return message.”

“Ser?” the scout asked, confused and a bit relieved.

“Go on, have a drink, relax,” Bull advised. “Let me take care of this. I have a plan.”

The scout stepped to the side, still uncertain. Wren caught his attention and nodded.

“It’s fine,” she said. “If you get in trouble, tell them I said so.”

Cullen moved to let Bull out, and then watched the man leave the tavern.

Bull cut across the grounds and up the stairs into the main hall. He didn’t spend much time here, and his presence brought silence and furtive whispers from the gossiping Orlesians that filled the hall even at this hour. He gave them no mind. Acknowledging them would only encourage them.

He walked to Josephine’s door and knocked.

“Come in,” her stressed voice directed.

He opened the door and walked in, ducking to fit through the door.

“Is there a message?” Josephine asked without looking up from her papers.

“There is,” Bull said.

Josie’s head snapped up, and she pressed her hand to her chest.

“Ah! The Iron Bull, I am so sorry. I thought you were the scout I sent out,” she said.

“I’m his replacement,” Bull said, walking over to Josie’s desk.

“His… replacement?”

“I’m bringing the reply,” Bull specified.

“I see,” she said, setting down her papers and looking up at him.

“It’s less a reply and more some advice,” Bull said.

Josephine raised her eyebrows at him.

“You have a golden opportunity here, Ambassador,” Bull said. “It’s no secret that the Commander and the Inquisitor are involved.”

“I have heard this, yes,” Josie admitted. “There have been a few kisses, as far as I know.”

“That’s what I hear,” Bull said. “And what all of Skyhold has been talking about since the first one happened. It’s big news. Your mighty Commander, swept off his feet by the Herald of Andraste - it’s a great story, even if the whole story is only ‘they’ve had a few barely more than chaste kisses’.”

“How do we know that Cullen did not sweep the Herald off her feet?” Josie asked.

“It was probably mutual,” Bull said, “but you’re missing the point - it’s the story that’s the important thing, and Wren catching Cullen is a good story. Why not spin this to be less about us being gone, and more about them being gone _together_?”

Josie sighed. “I did think about that,” she said, “but I am not certain that there is enough there for me to spin into a reassuring tale for the people.”

“They won’t need much,” Bull said. “Even just your word that they are choosing to spend the holiday together, phrased correctly, will do the trick. I know you’re capable of that, Ambassador.”

“I am,” she acknowledged, nodding thoughtfully.

“With my reports, you’ll have plenty to work with,” Bull said.

He smiled at her.

“Are you going to be writing to me, The Iron Bull?” Josie asked. She leaned forward, looking up at him.

“I thought I might,” he said.

They sized one another up for a long moment, and then very similar smiles crossed each of their faces.

“I look forward to it,” Josie said. “I believe I will take your advice, The Iron Bull.”

“Glad to hear it, Ambassador.”


	28. Or, Stars.

When another messenger appeared at the table, Cullen braced himself.

"Message for the Inquisitor," the messenger said.

"Oh!" Wren said. "That's fine then, what is it?"

The woman handed over a folded paper, which Wren promptly unfolded and read silently. It was an excerpt from a scout report, usually the sort handled by Leliana.

_We have a minor situation. In the past week, three scouts have come back to camp reporting some odd discoveries. Someone out here seems to be setting traps - big ones. One of the scouts had to be cut out of a net trap yesterday. It doesn't look like they were set to catch us, but that's what they're doing anyway. What would you like us to do?_

A note in Leliana's tidy handwriting was appended to the page.

_W. - What would you like done about this? - L._

Wren looked up at the messenger.

"Does Leliana want an answer on this now?" she asked.

"Yes, if possible," the messenger said.

Wren reached for her cider mug. It was oddly light when she lifted it, and she peered inside. Empty? She set it back down again with a frown.

"Find the person setting the traps," Wren said, handing the paper back. "If they're going against us, great, we've found an enemy and we can deal with them. If this is a mistake, find out what they're actually trying to trap. If there's a wyvern nest in southern Ferelden, it'd be good to find that out."

"Yes, Inquisitor," the messenger said. He nodded, then left the tavern.

Wren turned to look across the table at Cullen.  He raised an eyebrow.

"Trouble?" he asked.

Wren shook her head.  "Nothing really," she said.  "I'm more worried about where my cider went."

Bull walked over and set down a new mug in front of Wren.

"All set, boss," he said. "Josephine agreed to stop sending messengers to Cullen."

Wren reached over and took the new mug in both hands. "Bull," she said, "I could kiss you."

Bull chuckled. "You can owe me one," he said.

Wren took a drink of cider and smiled. "You got it," she said.

"Thank you," Cullen said. He sat back in his chair, his shoulders losing a bit of tension as he settled in.

"No problem," Bull said.

"So when do we leave?" Sera asked. "I wanna get my stuff together."

"After Hawke gets here," Wren said. "She ought to arrive tomorrow, so we'll leave the day after. Early."

Sera made a face. "Early? Hate early."

"Me too, but it can't be helped," Wren said. She took another drink, then set her mug down and turned to Bull. "What did you say to Josie?" she asked.

"I listened," Bull said. He shrugged. "Made a few suggestions, and she decided to take my word for it that things would be fine."

Wren smiled. "You're a hero," she said. "Anything that makes Josie happy- hey!"

She whirled back and pointed at Cullen. He tried to look innocent, but it was difficult to do so with Wren's mug held to his lips.

Bull chucked, and Sera cackled. "He drank the last one, too!" Sera said.

"And nobody _stopped him_?" Wren asked.

"Nah," Sera said. "'s too funny, yeah? Big ol' fancy-britches drinkin' your cider."

"Some friends you are," Wren said. "And you!" She looked back at Cullen.

Cullen set the mug down, a smirk teasing the corner of his mouth.

The urge to kiss it off his face was nigh on overwhelming, and she tried to look stern. _Damn. This is trouble._

When the hint of a smirk turned into a proper one, she lost her grasp on her frown, and her train of thought went with it. She bit her lip, and heard Sera start to snicker.

A faint flush of red colored Wren's cheeks.

"You owe me a cider," she said lamely.

Blackwall choked back a laugh.

 

* * *

 

It was too hot in her room. How was that even possible? They were surrounded by snow, and yet Wren found herself sulky, throwing her blankets off and grumbling to herself about sweaty knees. She peeled her shirt off and walked over to the balcony, throwing open the doors to let in the breeze.  The cool air hit her skin, cooling the sweat and sending a welcome shiver across her skin.  

In the distance, she could just make out Cullen’s tower lights reflecting off the stones.

Was he at work again? He’d spent an hour or two with them at the tavern, stealing her cider and relaxing into being just another person for a while. They’d talked about the troops a bit, but mostly the chat had been idle after Bull's return - easy.

Wren had tried not to watch the corner of his mouth tip up in his one-sided smile. Tried not to watch his hands when he talked, tried not to think about tracing the column of his neck with her mouth. Tried not to think of the many other places she'd like to explore with lips and tongue and teeth. She failed, of course, but the effort had been made.

What was it about Cullen, about this whole situation that made her so bloody careful? Given her uncertain future, she should be bolder. Yet here she was, slowly savoring every little shift. She could lose hours thinking about the timbre of his voice when he’d spoken her name.

Had her name ever sounded so good before? He turned it into fine whisky, and she felt she could grow drunk from the sound.

She nodded once, firmly, then turned back to the room.  She grabbed her sleep shirt and pulled it back over her head.  She pulled on socks and boots, then padded down the stairs and slipped out the door.

Work had stopped here after the route to her room had been secured, leaving the rest of the tower an empty wreck. There was still scaffolding holding up parts of the tower - something Wren took advantage of on occasion.  She headed for the scaffolding and swung out, climbing down silently through the tower. When she reached the ground, she picked her away over and through the rubble to the door. She quietly unlocked it and slipped outside.

 

* * *

 

It had been dark for hours already, but still the lamps burned. Cullen knew he had to sleep but his brain kept grinding on, worrying over what would happen while he was gone. He'd made up lists of instructions, stacks of notes about what to do in emergencies, contact lists, backup directions, training rosters, notes for Blackwall, notes for Harrison-

Maker, he had to stop this.

He tucked a last stack of reports into his vest, then put out the lamps. He forced himself to turn away from the desk and climb up to the loft, methodically putting the work behind him. Tomorrow would be busy. He had to be rested. He repeated this to himself as he climbed, nearly convincing himself by the time he reached the top.

The moons and stars shone in through the holes in the ceiling, and he felt a bit better for seeing them. They lit his path to the bed, where he dropped the reports.

Some nights it felt like the work of hours to unpick his armor. He could feel his hands shaking as he stripped back the layers, fingers betraying him with fumbling. He hung his plate over the edges of the barrels in the corner, then peeled off the leather shirt and dropped it on a chest.

He exchanged his heavy pants and shirt for light ones, then sat down on the bed to read.

Three reports later, he heard footsteps on his roof. Familiar steps, carefully placed, headed for the edge of a hole in the roof. _Wren._ Thinking of her, a smile drifted gently to his face.

He looked up toward the sound, and heard her settle onto the roof. Her soft voice drifted down as she started to hum.

"Es warb ein schöner Jüngling," Wren sang quietly, "über ein breiten see. Um eines Königes Tochter, nach leid geschach ihm Weh."

He set down the papers. The language didn't sound familiar, and her accent was one he'd never heard her use before. What was this?

"Ach Elselein, liebes Elselein mein, wie gern wär' ich bei dir! So sind zwei tiefe Wasser wohl zwischen dir und mir."

Her voice was almost sad, full of longing, and it made his heart ache. He watched the ceiling where her voice seemed centered, hoping to see some sign of her above him.

"Das bringt mir große Schmerzen, herzallerliebster G'sell, und ich von ganzem Herzen, geb's für groß Ungefäll."

He heard her fingers tapping a beat along with the song, keeping herself on pace. The night was still outside of her singing, and he felt as though he were in a strange sort of dream.

"Hoff zeit werd es wohl enden, hoff Glück werd' kommen drein, sich in all's Guts verwenden, herzliebstes Elselein!"

She hummed a bit, then fell silent.

"I didn't know you spoke… whatever language that was," Cullen said.

He heard her slide closer to the edge.

"I don't," she said. "You've heard the lot. I learnt the song bit by bit over a trip with a caravan from the Anderfels. The old man that taught me wasn't interested in teaching me anything except the song. He wasn't terribly patient with questions, either."

"Do you know what the words mean?" he asked.

Wren stepped closer, then sat and dangled her legs over the edge of the broken boards. Her legs swung gently to and fro. "I know what he told me," she said. "Hopefully that's what I'm singing."

He watched her - the curve of her calves, the turn of her ankles, the pale moonlight highlighting her bare knees above the tall socks and boots. She was leaned back away from the hole in the ceiling, leaving the rest of her hidden.

She hummed a bit, then said, "Once, there was a handsome young man from across a wide sea. _Ein breiten see._ Pursuit of a king's daughter led him to great sorrow."

"Oh Elselein," she said. " _Elselein, liebes Elselein mein_... my dear Elselein, how I long to be with you, but there are two deep waters between you and me, _zwischen dir und mir_."

Cullen remembered his long hours watching the waves on the Waking Sea. It had been cold, grey, and always damp. Even aside from his panic, sickness, and misery, it had been a chilling sight.

" _Das bringt mir_ \- that brings me great pain, my dear friend," Wren said. ''I say… wholeheartedly this is a great misfortune. Have hope that time will end this, _hoff zeit werd es wohl enden_ , have hope that fortune will change. Have hope that all else will fall into place, beloved Elselein!"

"Do you suppose they ended up together?" Cullen asked.

"I hope so," she said. "He never mentioned a sequel, so I suppose we'll never know for certain."

Wren swung her legs idly back and forth above him. Cullen watched the motion, the play of her muscles under her skin.  Had Sera had given Wren those boots?  He thought he remembered that.  Yes- because Wren had mentioned that she'd had worn the original soles out entirely and had to have them resoled.  The new blue leather soles were already scuffed and broken in, he noted. Despite the wear, Cullen could see clean black lines drawn all over the soles. Wait, not lines. Text?

"Did you write on your shoes?" Cullen asked.

"Hmm?" Wren pulled up one foot, propping it up on her knee. "Oh," she said. "No, that was Sera. She does that sometimes when I'm asleep."

"What does it say?" he asked.

"'I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade'," Wren said, reading the sole of that shoe. She dropped that leg down, then picked up the other one. "'Nothing that He has wrought shall be lost.'" She dropped the other foot down.

"The Canticle of Trials," Cullen said, almost to himself.

"She started doing it after Adamant," Wren said.

He heard her shift, then lay back against the roof.

"It's clear tonight," she said, her voice a bit more distant. "You can see forever."

Cullen set aside the papers and climbed out of bed.  He walked over to stand below the larger hole in the ceiling and looked up at the sky.

From here, he could see one of the moons and a panoply of stars, stretching above him into the darkness.

"It's beautiful," he said.

"I love the sky up here in Skyhold," Wren said. "It's always so clear at night."

Cullen hummed in agreement. "It's peaceful," he said.

They stayed together quietly for a time, looking up at the sky.

"I wanted to talk to you about something before we go," Wren said.

"Oh?"

"You know people have been talking," Wren said. "About us."

Cullen sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how quickly gossip spreads through the barracks. Or, I suppose maybe you would,” he said.

“I would,” she said. “I haven’t bought a pint since word got around.”

Cullen choked back a laugh.

“Does it bother you?” she asked.

“I would rather my - our - private affairs remain that way,” he said.

Wren chuckled apologetically. “I think that ship sailed. They had a betting pool. I think most of Skyhold was in it by the end,” she said. “Even Cassandra.”

Cullen shook his head. “That ought to surprise me,” he said, “but it doesn’t.”

“Do you know who won?” Wren asked. “Krem. He only chose the one day, and it happened to be the right one. He said he'd 'done the maths'.”

“We should be asking him in on planning meetings,” Cullen said.

“At the very least, I should be consulting him before I make any more personal decisions,” Wren said.

He heard her sit back up.

"They're going to talk even more now that you're travelling with us," she said. "I'm sorry, Cullen."

“Don't be. If there were nothing here for them to talk about,” Cullen said, “I would regret that more.”

Wren hooked her legs against the ceiling and leaned over to smile down at him.

He looked up at her, backlit as she was by the moon, and felt his heart twist at the sight of her.

"Josephine is determined to have the roof repaired while we're away," Cullen said. His voice was soft. "I'm going to miss this."

A flash of dismay crossed Wren's face.

"I'll still visit you," she said. "I'll just have to knock from now on, I suppose."

"Any time," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Wren sings is called "Es Warb Ein Schöner Jungling", a song written by Ludwig Senfl in 1534. Yes, it's German. I've taken some liberties, but I don't think it's a huge leap to think that there would be some Theodosian language, however uncommonly enountered, that resembles German.
> 
> My favorite version of the song is by Owain Phyfe and Wolgemut, taken from a live album they did some years ago. That exact version isn't on youtube, but there is a version that's just Owain : https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X8gNHWYug88 .


	29. Or, the Calm Before.

The light was still purpled with dawn when the first runners went to call the Inquisitor, Leliana, and Cullen to the war room. All three runners returned with messages - Leliana would be along in a few moments, Cullen was finishing up some morning reports and would arrive soon, and… the Inquisitor was missing.

When Leliana arrived, Josephine was pacing next to the war table.

"Have you seen the Inquisitor this morning?" Josephine asked.

"No," Leliana said. "Is she not in her room?"

"No," Josephine said. "She also isn't in the tavern, or in the Commander's office."

"How very odd," Leliana said. "You don't suppose she's run off, do you?"

"She wouldn't," Josephine said.

The two of them looked at each other a moment, then Josephine frowned.

"I don't think she would," Josephine said.

The war room door opened, and both women turned to look. Cullen walked in, still skimming a report.

"Commander," Josephine said.

"Yes?" he asked, looking up.

"Have you seen the Inquisitor?" Josephine asked.

"No, not since last night," he said, shaking his head.

Leliana chuckled, and Cullen coughed. "That is- I didn't mean- I wasn't, _we_ weren't-"

Josephine hid a smile behind her hand.

"We haven't seen her yet today," Leliana said, "and she isn't in any of the usual places."

Cullen frowned. "Have you asked Varric?" he asked. "She mentioned yesterday that the two of them have been working on something. I believe it has something to do with Hawke and Fenris."

"I'll send someone to check," Josephine said.

Josephine left the war room, and Cullen took his place by the war table.

"So," Leliana said, "what weren't you and the Inquisitor doing last night?"

" _Anything_ ," Cullen said firmly.

 

* * *

 

"I need you to find the Inquisitor," Josephine said.

"Find her-?" the runner asked.

"Yes. Her rooms have been searched, and she isn't there. Go and ask Varric if he's seen her. She's wanted in the war room," Josephine said. "Hurry."

The runner nodded once. "At once, Ambassador."

They left the room and headed into the main hall, walking briskly.

"Master Tethras," the runner said. "Have you seen the Inquisitor this morning?"

"No, I haven't seen her yet," Varric said. "Are you sure she's awake?"

"She isn't in her room," the runner said.

"Have you checked with Dorian? She might want to start talking to him early today," Varric said. "Or he might know something."

"Of course, ser."

The runner left, headed for the tower. Up the stairs, around the circle, and there was Dorian, tucked into the corner.

"Master Pavus," the runner said.

"So early for messages! What is it?" he asked.

"Ser, have you seen the Inquisitor?"

"This early? Never," Dorian said. "Are you certain she isn't still in bed?"

"It's been checked, ser," the runner said.

"Pity. Well, maybe Scout Harding knows. She knows everything else," Dorian said. "Terribly useful, that woman."

"Thank you, ser."

Around again, down the stairs, out into the yard, and over to where Harding was saddling her horse.

"Scout Harding!" the runner said, jogging over. "My lady, have you seen the Inquisitor? Lord Pavus said you may know."

"Really?" Harding asked, turning to look at the runner.

"He says you know everything else," the runner said.

"Dorian said that? Well. That's very flattering, but I don't know where she is," Harding said. "You could try asking Krem. If the Inquisitor has been in the tavern at all, he would know."

"I will. Thank you," the runner said. They headed toward the pub, heaving a sigh as they pushed the door open. Cremisius was there, sitting in his chair by the wall. The runner headed straight over.

"Master Aclassi? Have you seen the Inquisitor?"

"The Inquisitor? No, not this morning," Krem said. "Have you seen her, boss?" He turned and looked at The Iron Bull, lounging in his chair by the wall.

Bull laughed. "Not this early. You sure she isn't under the bed, sleeping? Maybe in a closet?"

"I could check, ser," the runner said.

"Ask Sera first," Bull advised. "She sees a lot from that window."

"Thank you," the runner said, then headed for the stairs.

Sera wasn't in her room, but was instead at a table near her closed door, picking her nails with a knife. She sat up when the runner walked over.

"What is it?" Sera asked.

"The Inquisitor, miss," the runner said. "Have you seen her?"

"What, her nibs? She's in the downstairs," Sera said. "With the blacksmith and all."

"She is?" the runner asked. Surely they'd heard that wrong. An actual answer?

"Yeah," Sera said impatiently. "Just go see. She was there all morning."

"Truly? Thank you, my lady!" the runner said. They turned and ran down the steps and out into the yard. Up the stairs, into the main hall, and - there! The Inquisitor stepping out of the door to the Undercroft!

"Inquisitor!" the runner said, running up to intercept the woman. "Please, Your Worship, there's a war room meeting."

"Now?" Wren asked.

"Yes," the runner said. "The Ambassador was very keen that you should know."

"I'll go right there. Thank you," Wren said.

The runner waited for Wren to disappear into the door to Josephine's office, then sagged against the wall in relief.

 

* * *

 

"We aren't expecting them in until this evening, after supper," Josephine said, pacing. "That gives you the whole of the day to get your preparations in. I trust you are both capable of tying up all loose ends by then?"

"I think we all know the Commander will work until the moment he is dragged away," Leliana said. "But that he is likely prepared already."

"Yes," Cullen conceded. "I am already packed. I will be busy today regardless. There is still much to do before tomorrow."

"I'll pack tonight," Wren said. "Don't worry so, Josie. We've left Skyhold before, you know."

"Yes, but… it makes me uncomfortable having the both of you gone," Josephine said. "Without the two of you, we never would have survived Haven."

"It's only a month," Wren said. "And it's good practice for when we make that state visit to Denerim."

"Do not remind me," Josephine said. "I feel very out of the loop on this. What have you and the King of Ferelden been discussing such that he wishes to see you in person?"

"I didn't think anything," Wren said. She shrugged. "It's all been very politically neutral and complementary in a non-binding sort of way. You've read half the letters yourself."

Josephine nodded. "That is what makes it so unusual," she said. "Simply promise me it will be some time before you take the Commander away again."

"Once we get back I'm sure he'll want to not see any of our faces for a while," Wren said. "When he forgets how badly Bull snores and the way I steal all the spare blankets in camp, maybe."

"But you're always too warm," Josephine said. "Why do you steal the blankets?"

"I'm too warm here," Wren said. "Out there is a different story. But to be honest, half of them are padding. The ground is hard, Josie."

"Josie. Did you call us out to this meeting so you could worry the Inquisitor and the Commander to death before they can leave?" Leliana asked.

"I- no! There is also the matter of these reports," Josephine said, waving some papers.

"Well then, by all means," Leliana teased.

Josephine began handing out stacks of papers. Once her back was turned, Wren looked at Cullen. She caught his eye and grinned.

He squinted at her suspiciously.

She cleared her face of any expression save innocence.

Josephine turned back. Cullen and Wren both faced her attentively.

"Now then…"

 

* * *

 

Wren walked quickly out into the main hall like a recruit that had narrowly escaped latrine duty. Maker, that had taken forever. She stopped short with a jolt as a dark figure cut in front of her. Who-? Her eyes focused on the figure before her, and she relaxed.

"Inquisitor, Commander, how fortuitous to run into the two of you," Dorian said, smiling.

"Dorian! How lovely to see you," Wren said. Cullen nearly ran into her, breathing an apology as he skirted around to stand next to her. "Good morning, Dorian," he said.

"I was hoping I might borrow the Commander for a bit today," Dorian said. "I am meant to 'make myself scarce' after lunch, and I was hoping to use that time to play chess."

Cullen looked pleased, but said, "I really shouldn't-"

"I think you should," Wren said, nudging him with her elbow. "It will be a good excuse for a break, and if she shows up early you won't have to meet with Hawke in front of everyone."

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck absently. It was still awkward, seeing Hawke. She was perfectly polite, but there were a lot of things unsaid.

"There, you see? Your boss has given you permission. Surely you can make the time," Dorian said.

He shouldn't, but… "I- yes, that would be fine," Cullen said.

"Tell you what," Wren said. "I'll bring lunch to the garden. You two meet me there. I'll nick all the best stuff first and we can eat out there with no one the wiser. Well, except Morrigan, but she wouldn't bother telling anyone."

"My dear, you are a treasure. Bring wine," Dorian said. "They won't let me in the cellar these days." He leaned over and kissed her cheek before turning and heading toward the library.

"I'll have to get back to work now if I want to make up that time," Cullen said.

"Go on," Wren said. "Don't forget - lunch in the garden. I'll send Dorian to fetch you if you're late."

"Of course. I'll see you then, Inquisitor," Cullen said.

Wren smiled. "Yes," she agreed.

She waited for Cullen to leave the hall, then walked over toward the door to the gardens.

"Gatsi," Wren said, nodding politely.

“Inquisitor,” Gatsi said. “Pleasure to see you. What can I do for you?.”

“I hear you’re measuring the holes in the roof in Cullen’s office,” Wren said.

“Ambassador Montilyet spoke to me about them,” Gatsi said. “She wants them repaired while he’s away.”

“Sensible,” Wren said, “but I have a bit of an idea. Can I possibly override her directions?”

“You _are_ the Inquisitor,” Gatsi said. “What do you need?”

“I’m working on something with Dagna,” Wren said. “I should be able to let you know the specifics before we leave, but I suspect I may need you to make the holes bigger. Are you okay to work with Dagna while I’m gone?”

“Of course,” Gatsi said. “This sounds very mysterious, Inquisitor.”

“It’s a surprise,” Wren said. “That’s why. You’ll see. Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“I can keep a secret,” Gatsi said. He held out his hand.

“Great. Thanks, Gatsi.” Wren smiled, then shook the dwarf’s proffered hand. “Best of the vein to you.”

“Best of the vein, Inquisitor.”

 

* * *

 

Wren talked to Varric for an hour, preparing for the worst. Hawke and Varric had talked to Fenris and Dorian. Fenris and Dorian had been writing to one another for months, sometimes very contentiously, but so far no one had sent along poison, and no assassins had turned up.

Wren had hope, but it was hope under a lot of trepidation.

When lunch time came around, she nipped off to the kitchens and filled a basket with whatever food she thought would best suit, and then a bottle of the best wine she could wheedle from the sommelier. She made her way silently to the gardens and tucked the basket in the shade, then wandered away to wait.

She drifted toward her favorite flowers, lured by the nodding heads of her carelessly tended plants. Patches of the checkerboard printed flowers marred the otherwise tidy beds, turning them into something entirely more wild, more pleasant. She crouched down and touched one of them, as if she could ring it like a bell.

“Those flowers don’t do anything,” she heard a serious voice say.

Wren turned her head to look.

“Kieran,” Wren remembered.

“Yes,” the boy agreed.

Wren looked back at the flowers.

“They remind me of someone,” Wren said. “But they can’t be used for medicine or potions, no.”

“Mother says sometimes I remind her of my father,” Kieran said.

“Oh?” Wren said, looking back at him. “Do you like that?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

Wren could see someone else there, just in the edges, where Morrigan’s stamp bled out into whoever else had contributed to the making of Kieran. She doubted it was recognisable unless you knew the other person. Which, she thought, likely only Morrigan and that other person did.

“I don’t remember what my parents are like,” Wren said. “I haven’t seen them since I was younger than you are.”

“Who looked after you?” he asked, sitting down next to her.

“They gave me to the Templar order,” Wren said. “The Templars and the Chantry looked after me.”

“Mother says I should stay away from Templars,” Kieran said.

“That’s good advice,” Wren said.

“Are you a Templar now?” Kieran asked.

“No,” Wren said. “I ran away.”

“If I see Templars, that's what I'm supposed to do,” Kieran said.

Wren nodded.

“I did that for a long time,” Wren said. “I thought they would be very mad at me.”

“Were they?”

“Probably some of them were. A friend of mine made sure they wouldn’t chase me, but I didn’t know that, so I still ran a lot,” she said.

Wren sat down and leaned back on her hands. “It was okay in the end,” she said.

“There are Templars here,” Kieran said. “I’ve seen them. They train out in the yard. Your Commander used to be a Templar.”

“That’s all true,” Wren said.

Kieran looked at the flowers, his expression serious.

“These are for him,” Kieran guessed.

“They remind me of him,” Wren agreed. “He’s my friend. I like to have something here to remind me of him, and to show him that I want to be reminded.”

Kieran thought about that a moment, then nodded.

“You’re nice, for someone that kills people all the time,” Kieran observed.

Wren laughed.

“Kieran,” Morrigan said, walking over. “Don’t bother the Inquisitor.”

“It’s no bother,” Wren said. “We were just talking about flowers.”

Morrigan frowned slightly.

“These ones,” Kieran said, leaning over to point. “They don’t do anything.”

“The bulbs are poisonous,” Morrigan said.

“I’ll try to remember not to eat them,” Wren said seriously.

Kieran smiled.

“Time for you to be back at your studies, little man,” Morrigan said.

“Yes, Mother,” he agreed. He stood up and brushed himself off. “Thank you for talking to me, Inquisitor.”

“You’re welcome,” Wren said. “I’m happy to talk to you whenever we both have time. I’d offer to help you study, but I think you’d have to teach me everything first.”

“I could do that,” Kieran said.

“Some other time,” Morrigan said.

Kieran nodded.

“Think of something you really like,” Wren said, “and you can teach me that, next time.”

Kieran's face lit up. “I will,” he said.

Morrigan led him away to their quarters, and Wren climbed back to her feet to wait for her boys.

 

* * *

 

Wren watched Dorian move his piece and did her best to keep a straight face.

Cullen didn’t even try. He smirked.

“You tried that last time,” Cullen pointed out. “It didn’t work then, either.”

Cullen moved his piece and leaned back.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, then moved a piece.

Cullen sat up and looked at the board.

“Hmm,” he said.

Wren bit her lip.

“Well, Commander?” Dorian asked.

Cullen frowned.

Wren and Dorian looked at one another, and Wren’s eyes fairly danced with mirth. Dorian gave a sly smile.

“I concede,” Cullen said, sounding astonished.

Dorian stood and bowed. “Ah, the world is as it should be, with myself the victor,” he said.

Wren walked over and stretched up on her toes to kiss Dorian on the cheek. “A masterful performance, Master Pavus,” she said.

“You flatter me, dove,” he said, smiling down at her. "Feel free to do so any time."

"I could hardly think of enough superlatives, ser," Wren said.

“What was it you told me the other day? That I should settle for no less than a man who would write sonnets about my eyes? Surely you could give me at the very least an aubade,” Dorian said.

“I'm no poet,” Wren said, "but perhaps I can find you a song for Satinalia."

“That reminds me, I need to gather my things,” Dorian said. “We leave in the morning, do we not?”

“We do. You’re certain you want to come? You’ll miss the parties,” Wren said.

“And miss spending all that lovely time camping on the road, killing random strangers? Perish the thought,” Dorian said. He leaned down and kissed her cheek, then inclined his head toward Cullen before turning and leaving the garden.

Wren smiled affectionately, then sat down in Dorian’s vacated chair.

“Figure it out yet?” she asked the Commander.

“Yes,” Cullen grumbled. “Just after I conceded. I was watching for the cheat, and didn’t notice the setup.”

Wren hummed in agreement.

Cullen kept frowning at the board. Wren stood up again and walked over to lean over his shoulder.

“Looks the same from this side,” she said.

She leaned closer.

“Dorian snaked you, Commander,” she confided.

“He’s going to be unbearable for a while, isn’t he?” Cullen asked.

“Oh, doubtlessly,” Wren agreed. “Prepare for days of smug references.”

Cullen sighed.

"I suppose I should go back to my paperwork," he said. "There's still much to do before tomorrow."

"Mmm," Wren agreed. She stood up and rested her hand on his shoulder. "I should probably do the same," she said.

Cullen looked up at her, then slid his chair back.

Wren looked at him with a sort of amused resignation. Cullen reached up and took her hand, then stood and turned to face her.

"We'll speak later, Inquisitor," he said. It was more of a question than a statement.

Wren smiled.

"Yes," she said.

She squeezed his hand, then turned to go.

He tugged her hand. She turned back around to face him, eyebrow raised in question. He pulled her closer, then slowly raised her hand and kissed her knuckles.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Her mouth fell slightly open.

"I- you're welcome, Commander," she said.


	30. Or, the Rookery.

Wren scowled at the paperwork on her desk. Another two dozen things to read and sign, and it had only been a few days! Or had it? Perhaps it had been longer. She'd thought she could get this all done before Hawke was meant to arrive, but this was no small task.

She picked up the first one and read it, then took some notes. No, she didn't agree with that. No, she didn't trust that person. She set that pile aside to send it back to Josie.

Ten reports in, she felt a pair of elbows settle on her shoulders.

"Hey, little bird. Got a minute?" a familiar voice asked.

Wren dropped her papers and her heart leapt into her throat.

"Hawke?" she asked. The elbows shifted, and Wren turned around to look. A dark haired woman stood behind her, snow still speckling her dusty leathers. Hawke looked tired, but very pleased with herself.

"Don't you look well?" Hawke asked, reaching over and brushing a stray lock of hair away from Wren's face. "Much better than last time I saw you, all covered in Nightmare spit."

"I've had a bath since then," Wren said. "When did you get here? I didn't hear- nobody told me, I'm sorry I wasn't at the gate."

"Just now," Hawke said. "We snuck in. I thought it'd be fun, like the old days. You're the first one to see us."

"Oh!" Wren paused, then a grin snuck into the corner of her mouth. "Well, welcome back to Skyhold, Hawke. You're going to give Cullen the spins, dodging all his guards this way."

"That's part of the joy of it," Hawke said. "He made my life difficult enough. Tweaking him now and again is the right of an old friend. Make sure when he fusses later that he knows I do it with affection."

"I'll be sure to. Did Fenris not come with you?" Wren asked, looking around.

"He's out on the balcony," Hawke said, tipping her head toward the far door. "He said it 'wasn't appropriate' for him to sneak into a lady's room. Technically correct, but still, bit silly in this weather."

"Oh," Wren said, "That's very kind, but I'm hardly a proper lady."

"You _are_  a noble, little bird," Hawke said. "Or were.  Though even if you weren't, he'd still be stood out there. Come on, let's drag him in. He's a thin-blooded thing, hates the cold."

Wren stood up and followed Hawke over to the glass doors. A figure in a heavy cloak and hood stood with its arms crossed. Hawke looped an arm around Wren's waist, then pushed open the door and led her out onto the balcony.

"Your Birdliness, I'd like you to meet Fenris," Hawke said, sweeping her free hand toward the cloaked figure. "Love, this is Wren."

Wren's breath caught in her throat when he pushed his hood off and looked at her. _Maker_. It's not that she didn't know how he looked, Varric's stories were remarkably descriptive, but somehow seeing it in person…

He was almost terrifyingly striking. His tattoos seemed to glow, and she could feel the hum of them itching at her back teeth and skating along her nerves.

"Inquisitor," he said, nodding.

Wren felt her pulse thump in her neck. His _voice_! Why had Varric not warned her about his voice? _Who tells a story about a man with a voice like that and doesn't mention the voice_? She felt like her skin was too tight.

"It's a pleasure," she heard herself say. "Please, come in. There's a fire set, and you can warm up."

"Thank you," he said. "I don't know how you bear these winters."

"It's spring," Hawke said.

Fenris shook his head. "Spring must mean something very different here," he said.

Wren stepped back and led the way into the room. Hawke took Fenris' hand, twining their fingers with ease. Once everyone was in, Wren closed the door again and watched Fenris gravitate toward the fire. He stood before it like a great cat, basking in the warmth with eyes nearly closed.

Hawke let him go and walked back over to Wren. Hawke nudged Wren gently with her elbow, then smiled affectionately at Fenris. Wren nodded and smiled back.

"Oh, hey. You know how you could make my day?" Hawke asked. "Tell me you have a wash basin."

"In the closet," Wren said.

"Excellent," Hawke said. "I haven't had a bath in days. At the very least I should wash up a bit before we make our entrance."

Wren nodded. "I do have a bath, if you'd rather," she said.

Hawke grabbed Wren's arm. "You have a bath up here?" Hawke said, looking around. "Where?"

"I keep it in the loft," Wren said, gesturing to the area above the bed.

Hawke turned and looked.

"Isn't filling it and draining it a pain?" she asked.

"Dagna made it so that it fills and drains itself. I'm not sure where the water comes from or where it goes, but it works. No buckets required," Wren said. She shrugged.

Hawke reached over and put both hands on Wren's face.

"Is the water warm?" she asked.

"It can be. It has a fire rune set in the base to heat the water," Wren said. "You can keep it warm as long as you like."

"You beautiful little thing," Hawke breathed. She grabbed Wren's shirtfront and pulled her close, kissing her full on the mouth before Wren could react. "How do I get up there?" Hawke asked.

Wren blinked, then pointed to one of the doors on the far wall. "There's a ladder in there," she said.

Hawke released her hold on Wren's shirt and beamed her approval. "Varric was right about you," Hawke said.

"He… was?" Wren asked.

"Sure was," Hawke said. "Soap?"

"Upstairs, next to the bath," Wren said, waving a hand in that direction.

Hawke cut across the room, opening the door and making a pleased sound in her throat at the sight of the wide-runged ladder. "Don't worry, I won't drown," she said, then climbed up and disappeared into the darkened loft.

Fenris chuckled .

Wren shoved her hand through her hair and shook her head.

"Sweet Maker!" Hawke yelped. "Get up here, Fenris! This thing's huge!"

"Hawke, I don't really think that's appropriate," Fenris said.

"Birdy won't look. Come on, you're just as filthy as I am," Hawke insisted.

Fenris looked over at Wren.

She paused, then shrugged. "It's fine," she said. "I can always go make myself busy downstairs."

"If you aren't bothered, just stay at your desk or something," Hawke said. "I trust you.  Come on, Fen, come up. You have clean clothes left. Speaking of- hey, Birdy, do you have anything I could borrow?"

Wren had forgotten how easy it was to be swept along with Hawke's whims, but she felt no real need to resist.  Fighting the current would just wear her out, anyway.  "I must," Wren said. "What do you want?"

"Shirt, pants, something? I'm not fussy. How does this tub thing work?"

Fenris untied his cloak and neatly folded it, laying it on the floor near the hearth. He set down his bags and began going through them.

"There are three runes at the base of the tub," Wren said as she made her way to the closet.

"Yes," Hawke agreed.

"Tapping them turns them on or off. The first one fills the tub. The second one heats it. The third one drains it," Wren said. She opened the door and peered inside.

There was the sound of a thump from the loft, and then running water. "Oh!" Hawke said. Wren heard the water splash a bit as Hawke touched it, playing with the pool that swelled from the bottom of the tub.

Wren ducked into the closet and ferreted around in the clothing bins. She knew there were things in there that she hadn't won or been given, but they tended to shuffle toward the bottom of the stack. She finally came up with a pile of new linen clothes Josie had ordered, and grabbed a shirt and pants from the lot. Wren folded the stack in half and carried it out to Fenris.

She was careful not to touch him when she handed the pile over. The vibration of the lyrium tattoos hurt her head when she drew close. How did he stand it?

He nodded politely, then put his own stack of clothes on top and carried it up the ladder.

"Thanks, Birdy!" Hawke called down. "You'll keep watch down there, right? Make sure we aren't found out?"

"Sure," Wren said. "I have to finish this paperwork anyway. Take as much time as you need."

She walked back over to the desk and picked up the reports. 

She and Hawke had talked a bit before and during Adamant, but Wren was never certain how the Champion felt about her. It hadn't mattered much at the time, so long as they could trust each other enough to get through the Fade. This, though, was a much odder sort of interaction. Hawke said she trusted Wren, at least enough for this strange sort of visit.  Was this a test, or a proof of faith?

Wren shook her head and focused on the paperwork. _Miles to go before nightfall_ , she told herself. _Best focus_.

 

* * *

 

"...right through his side," Hawke said, pointing to a spot below her ribs. "It was amazing."

Wren laughed. "Fair enough, I'll tell you mine. I was on a caravan job, and-"

She stopped. Wren held up a finger, then climbed off the bed and walked over to the stairs.

A pounding knock rattled the door. Ha! She knew she'd heard steps.

"Yes?" Wren called.

"The Ambassador would like to see you in the war room. Leliana's scouts have lost track of the Champion," the runner said.

"Oh! Tell her I'll be right there," Wren said.

She waited until she heard them leave, then looked over at Hawke.

Hawke snorted in laughter. "That took far longer than I expected," she said. "Here, Fen, help me up. Time to make our entrance."

Fenris walked over from his position by the fire and offered Hawke a hand. She took it, then yanked him down onto the bed with her. Hawke leaned over and kissed him, then leaned away and winked.

Fenris rolled his eyes, but Wren could see a hint of a smile sneak into his expression. He stood back up again, and this time Hawke went with him.

"Let's go impress some people," Hawke said. "I can't wait to see Varric's face."

The three of them made virtually no noise at all as they descended the stairs and made their way through the broken tower to the main door.   _Two rogues and an elf walked into a hall_ , Wren thought.  It sounded like the start of a joke that would normally end in her pinching someone's wallet out of spite.

As they reached the door to the main hall, Hawke reached out and grabbed Wren's arm.

"Wait, Birdy. Come here a minute," Hawke whispered.

Wren lifted her hand off the door handle, then turned. "Hmm?" Wren asked.

Hawke reached over and ruffled Wren's hair. "There," Hawke said. "Much better story if you look a bit rumpled." She and Fenris fell back out of view of the door.

Wren shook her head and rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help a grin. It was hard to resist the urge to run her fingers through her hair to tidy it, but for Hawke, she left it be. Wren cleared her expression, then turned back to the door and opened it.

She spotted Varric right away. He was pacing in front of Josephine's door, his stride short and anxious. When he heard Wren's door open he turned toward her and started over.

"Birdy, we have a situation," he said.

Wren stepped out toward Varric.

"What is it?" she asked.

Varric stopped. "Hawke is missing."

"When did you lose track of her?" Wren asked.

"I don't know," Varric said, rubbing his temple with a frown.  "Hawke and Fenris are damn near unstoppable.  I wasn't worried until an hour ago.  They should have been here by now."

"Aw, Varric, would I run out on you?"  Hawke stepped out of the door, grinning down at Varric.

"You-" Varric started, then threw his hands in the air. "Maferath's balls, how long have you been here? You've had half the keep in a panic."

Hawke walked up to stand next to Wren and slid her arm around Wren's waist. "Long enough," Hawke said. "We wanted to spend a little quality time with your Inquisitor."

Fenris stepped out and closed the door quietly. "Varric," he said, nodding.

"You two had me worried," Varric said. "Would it have killed you to send a note? Maybe walk through the main hall, 'hey Varric, how are you?'"

Hawke looked at Wren and winked, tugging Wren in closer.  Wren leaned on Hawke's shoulder to keep her balance.

"What fun would that have been? Besides, then people would have wanted us, and we wanted Wren to ourselves. Can you blame me? She's very cute. Look how cute she is, Varric," Hawke said.

"Yes, yes, she's adorable," he said, sighing. "Hang out with Curly when he's had a few, he'll tell you all about it."

"He will?" Wren asked.

"He will?" Hawke echoed, delighted. "Cullen? Same Cullen that's all glowering and- wait. _Wait_."

Hawke looked at Wren, then released her and stepped back.

"Are you…?" Hawke asked. She made a remarkably descriptive set of gestures.

"Not… that, exactly," Wren said, eyes darting away from Hawke's delighted face.

"Not _exactly_? I have so many more questions now! Let's go back to your quarters," Hawke said.

"Hawke," Varric said firmly. "Later. _Now_ is for reassuring Ruffles that everything is fine."

"Later," Hawke said, poking Wren. "Promise me."

"Later," Wren echoed with obvious trepidation.

"You leave in the morning, right? Then tonight," Hawke said. "After supper? During supper? Will it be sooner if I promise not to wear pants? Or if I promise _to_ wear pants?"

Josephine's door opened, and the Ambassador leaned out. "Varric?" she asked. "Have you heard- oh! Champion Hawke!"

"Hello, Ambassador," Hawke said politely. "We were just coming to see you."

"Oh, I am so glad to see that you made it here safely!" Josie said, pressing the heel of her hand to her chest. "Please, do come in. Leliana and Cullen will be quite relieved."

"Birdy," Hawke said, looking at Wren.

Wren thought about her options, shuffling her duties in her head. "During supper. I'll have trays brought up. We can talk while I pack."

"Good," Hawke said. "Tonight, then."

Hawke leaned over and kissed Wren on the cheek, then left her and walked over to Josephine. "Lead on, Ambassador," Hawke said. "I'm eager to meet with your crew. Go on, Little Bird. I've already taken enough of your time this afternoon."

"But-" Josephine protested.

"Fenris can fill her in on everything I'm going to tell you," Hawke said. "Don't worry, Ambassador."

"But- yes, that would be fine," Josephine said, looking from Wren to Fenris with a slight frown. "This way then."

Josephine led Hawke into the office, then shut the door.

Fenris looked over at Wren.

"You do realize," he said, "that she is going to spend the entire meeting needling your Commander. That is the entire point of not having you there."

"And making jokes about birds," Varric said. "Snaring them. Catching them. Keeping them in cages. _Jesses_."

Wren paled slightly. She shuffled her plans again.

"Anyone want to sit quietly in a room and drink with me?" Wren asked.

Fenris chuckled.

"Come on," Varric said. "I have some wine put aside already. It's in a crate labelled 'Because Hawke'."

 

* * *

 

The four of them stood around the war table, faces set in similar expressions of unease.

"We can expect Weisshaupt to lock down," Hawke said. "If things are even half as bad as I suspect. I hope you have contact with the King of Ferelden, Sister Leliana, because he's still a Warden."

"I do," Leliana said. "He is not in immediate danger."

"How did he handle the whole mess with the Calling?" Hawke asked.

"The false Calling was… difficult," Leliana said. "He spoke of it very little when I asked. When it ended, however, he said he was tempted to offer the Inquisitor land and a title as thanks."

"I did not hear about that," Josephine said.

"I convinced him it would be bad for our political strategy," Leliana said. "He agreed to wait on anything quite so grand. He mentioned something about a small sign of gratitude instead."

"Ah, that- yes," Hawke said, nodding. "That makes sense."

"Oh?" Josephine asked.

"In my experience, that's how you big important people work," Hawke said. She waved a hand. "Presents for the good kids, beheadings for the bad ones. Occasionally sex for the pretty ones, no matter how bad or good they are. Though, to be fair, Alistair doesn't strike me as that sort."

Leliana chuckled. "He'd probably cut off his own hands before touching anyone but Ciara," Leliana said, "no matter how long she's away."

"Any news of her?" Hawke asked.

"Nothing," Leliana said. "She sent a letter some time ago, asking us to look out for Alistair and telling us she hoped we were successful, but her work was too important to delay by offering aid to us. There was nothing in the letter that helped determine how she was doing, personally or with her quest."

"She must still be alive," Josephine said. "Wr- the Inquisitor has been sending supplies regularly since then, and none of them have come back undelivered."

"She has?" Leliana asked. "Why was I not told?"

"I thought you knew," Josephine said. "She doesn't send much, and there are never letters. A pouch of healing potions goes out every two weeks."

"And it arrives? Do we know this?"

"It must go somewhere," Josephine said. "The pouch returns empty each time."

Leliana's fingers tightened on her papers.

"There's hope, then," Leliana said.

"I like to believe so," Josephine said.

Leliana nodded.

 

* * *

 

Varric's room in Skyhold was a good size. There was a large-enough bed, a desk, a small wooden table, and enough chairs to host a small night of drinking and cards. He had a bookshelf, a fireplace, a dresser, and a pile of blankets nearly thicker than the mattress.

Wren had never seen any of it before, and worked very hard at not appearing to be a goggle-eyed child when Varric led them inside. It was like being back in the Marches, somehow. There was a tone to the things he'd ordered and collected that reminded her of places she had visited in Ostwick.

"Have a seat," Varric said, waving a hand toward the table.

Fenris walked around, choosing a seat with a view of the door. Wren chose one to the left of him, though not directly near. She had no desire to appear to be crowding the man.

Varric opened a crate, then brought over two bottles of wine. He set them on the table, then settled himself into a comfortable chair near Wren.

"How was the trip?" he asked Fenris.

"Cold," the elf said, reaching for one of the bottles. He slit the seal and reached for a corkscrew. "Long."

"Most trips with Hawke are," Varric said. "At least, they feel that way. Have to admit, it's nothing on the places this one has dragged me."

He looked over at Wren, who shrugged.

"Hey," she said, "haven't I said I'd rather be in a nice town?"

"You have," he admitted. "You wait until this is over. We'll go somewhere with a nice bakery and tavern."

"Not Kirkwall, then," Fenris said.

Varric puffed up. "Hey, you like the Hanged Man," Varric protested.

"I do," Fenris said, "but I am under no illusions that it's a 'nice' tavern."

"Well, that may be true, but it's ours," Varric said fondly.

"It is that," Fenris said.

"After this is over," Wren said, "you'll go back to Kirkwall, right?"

"Yep," Varric said. "But don't worry. I won't run out on you right away. I know you can't do without me."

He winked and pushed the second bottle of wine toward her. "Go on," he invited. "It's not cider, but I promise it won't kill you."

"I do drink other things on occasion," Wren said, accepting the bottle and squinting at the cork.

"I've never seen it," Varric said.

"Halamshiral," Wren said.

Varric paused, then nodded. "Ah. Yes."

"Plied you with the finer things, did they?" Fenris asked. "Wine, slaves, fine music?"

He handed the corkscrew to Wren.

"They made the attempt," Wren said. Her voice went flat with the memory.

She dug the corkscrew into the cork with a vicious twist of her wrist. She yanked the cork free and spun it from the corkscrew before throwing it over her shoulder into the fire.

"But how do you really feel, Birdy," Varric asked with a smirk.

She growled.

"Not a fan of Orlesian society, I see," Fenris observed, a subtle quirk of his lips hinting at a smile.

"What is it that you say all the time, Birdy?" Varric asked. "Oh, yes. Fuck Orlais, isn't it?"

"I say that all the time to you," Wren said. "I try to be more judicious with other people."

Varric grabbed a wine glass from the shelves behind him and handed it to her. Wren poured a generous amount of dark liquid into the glass, then set the bottle back down.

"Here I thought I'd have to nudge you along," Varric said. "But here we are, already cursing entire countries."

"Mmm," Wren agreed, sipping her wine.

"Were you not looking forward our arrival?" Fenris asked.

She set down her glass. "I was," she said, "but I did worry a bit."

"I told you, once they were here everything would be easy," Varric said.

"Something about their arrival did take the edge off," Wren said, a wry smile tweaking her expression.

"Hard to be intimidated by someone you've seen naked," Fenris said with a shrug.

Wren tipped her head consideringly and nodded.

Varric's eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline.

 

* * *

 

"They should be gone a month," Leliana said. "Provided there are no complications."

"It will give us time to test our emergency plans," Josephine said. "Both for the loss of the Inquisitor, and for the loss of the Commander."

"The inconvenience will be worth it," Cullen said firmly.

"I am resigned," Josephine said. She frowned, but said nothing more.

"Fen and I will be here," Hawke said. "I hope you'll consider that a benefit."

"Of course," Leliana said. "Are you planning on staying for the duration?"

"Yes," Hawke said. "Birdy offered the Inquisition's aid and lodgings, and I aim to take her up on it. Plus, I hear you're planning on a state visit from a certain Prince of Starkhaven, and I haven't seen him in far too long."

"Varric doesn't seem to like the man much," Josephine observed.

"Varric is a liar," Hawke said. "They live to needle each other. The more Varric pokes, the more Sebastian acts like he doesn't care. Then Sebastian says plausibly deniable inappropriate things, and Varric can't decide how to take them. It's a system that works."

"We're sending Scout Harding out to deal with some matters in Ferelden, but then her team will head north toward the coast," Leliana said. "The Inquisitor is not aware of it at present, but she is going to invite the Prince for a visit in two month's time. We'll have Harding meet the Prince's entourage and escort them here."

"Is your little bird not looking forward to meeting Sebastian? I got her over being anxious of Fenris. I bet I could fix that, too," Hawke said. "Possibly using a different method, though."

Josephine chuckled. "She was afraid of Messere Fenris because she sees him as a threat to Dorian," Josephine said. "It is not quite the same with the Prince."

"What's wrong with Sebastian, then?" Hawke asked. "Is it the religion thing? Is she not Andrastean?"

"I cannot say what the Inquisitor believes about Andraste. We've discussed religion only in the most general of terms, but she does celebrate all the major holidays. I suspect that is not the issue, however. She had a crush on the Prince of Starkhaven when she was young," Josephine said. "I'm afraid she's been a bit teased about it since the news came to light."

Hawke laughed. "On Choir Boy?" she asked. "Don't get me wrong, I could have been tempted, but really?"

"And Alistair, at one point," Leliana said. "There is no accounting for taste."

Josephine shook her head. "I disagree with both of you," she said. "They are both honorable and handsome men in their own ways. One could hardly be faulted for noticing and appreciating such things. Especially if one was young and impressionable."

"Hard to imagine your Herald as an innocent young thing, but we all were, once. And Sebastian is easy on the eyes," Hawke conceded. "There is that _voice_ as well. Though, I suppose she wouldn't know about that, if she's never met him."

"Starkhaven has quite the distinct accent," Josephine said. "I assume he shares it?"

"It does, and he does," Hawke said. "Does she like that sort of thing?"

Hawke looked over at Cullen, but his attention was on the stack of papers in front of him.

"A man that meant much to her was from Starkhaven," Josephine said. "It seems likely she would at least be fond of the accent."

"She does spend a good amount of time talking with Knight-Captain Rylen, as well," Leliana said.

"Oh! Yes, she does at that. She sang that song for him some months ago, what was it…?" Josephine asked.

"Something about a red-haired girl, I believe," Leliana said.

"Not familiar with it," Hawke said. "She… sings often, does she?"

"On the road, certainly," Leliana said. "At least according to my reports. Here, she tends to sing only for friends. And the Commander, of course."

All three women looked at Cullen. He snapped his head up, looking around warily.

"What?" he asked.

"Does she?" Hawke asked.

"Does who what?" he asked.

"Oh, never mind. Tell me, what do you think about Sebastian and Alistair?" Hawke asked .

"I've never met the King," Cullen said. "Sebastian was kind. I enjoyed our conversations."

"You and Choir Boy had conversations? When?" Hawke asked.

"While we were both in Kirkwall," Cullen said. "He came by the Gallows on occasion to discuss Chantry matters and offer his help."

Hawke scowled. "His help?"

"He offered counsel," Cullen said. "Some of the Templars would go to him for confession and guidance. Those same men were the ones to join me against Meredith, so if you're doubting his loyalty to you, I would rethink that concern."

"I didn't know," Hawke said. "It doesn't surprise me, but still… I suppose I was busy myself, then. I'm glad he helped you, Commander."

"He- yes. I'm grateful as well," Cullen said. "Is there more to discuss about the Warden situation?"

"Unfortunately," Leliana said, "yes."

She pulled out a letter, and pointed to the war table map.

"There's a situation brewing here," she said. "What do you know about this, Hawke?"

 


	31. Or, Transitions.

"Inquisitor?" Hawke called up the stairs.

"Come on up," Wren said. "Supper should arrive soon."

Hawke bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time. At the top she paused, looking around. Wren was tucked into a closet, arm deep in a crate of clothing. Fenris was curled up in Wren's desk chair, reading a book.

"Hey, Birdy, Fen," Hawke said. "Where'd the two of you leave Varric?"

Fenris looked up from his book briefly, then looked back at the page. "His room," Fenris said. "He had letters arrive that he needed to deal with, and the Inquisitor offered her company until you were finished tormenting the advisors."

"I did very little tormenting," Hawke said. "Tiny amounts. Reasonable amounts. You said food should be here soon?"

Wren looked over her shoulder and smiled.

"Yes," Wren said. "I sent word a bit ago. Go ahead and sit anywhere you like. I'll be doing this for a while."

Hawke walked over to the bed and leaned a shoulder against one of the bed posts. She smoothed out her shirt sleeves, then looked over at Wren.

"This shirt you gave me to wear is nice," Hawke said. "Have you never worn it?"

"No," Wren said. "I hate new clothes." Her voice was muffled a bit, then clearer as she leaned back toward the main room. "Josephine could tell you some stories about her battles to keep me looking proper. Does it fit well enough?"

"I'd say so," Hawke said. "We're not exactly the same size, but close enough. You're shorter, though."

"By quite a bit. You're very tall, Hawke," Wren said.

Fenris nodded behind his book.

"I suppose so," Hawke said. "I don't really think of myself as tall. I always felt small next to Carver."

"Your brother, yes?" Wren asked.

"Yes," Hawke agreed. There was a twinge in her expression for a moment. "He was terribly tall, almost like your Qunari."

Wren nodded. "Very tall," Wren agreed. "I'm hardly that."

"Eh, don't feel bad. You're still taller than Fenris," Hawke observed.

"Hey," Fenris protested idly.

Hawke smiled affectionately at him, though he didn't look up to notice.

Wren brought a stack of clothes over to the bed, then returned to the closet.

"So," Hawke said. "The Commander."

"The Commander," Wren echoed, shoving her arm further into the bin of clothes.

"I'm dying to know what's going on with the two of you," Hawke said. "You _are_ together, yes? Your Spymaster certainly thinks so."

Wren felt around, buying time. "Mmm," she hummed. She paused, then frowned slightly. "What did Leliana say?"

"Nothing in particular," Hawke said, "but it was clear all the same."

Wren nodded, then yanked a handful of clothes up and brought them over to the bed.

"You're being quite reticent," Hawke observed. "Is she wrong?"

Wren busied her hands with her clothes, sorting things quickly. "She's not," Wren said reluctantly. 

"Yeah?" Hawke asked. She frowned. "You don't seem happy about it."

Wren breathed a chuckle. "Maker, I'm ridiculous. I feel like I'm floating half the time, just thinking about him, but you ask me about it and I can't even admit that we're doing... whatever we're doing," Wren said. "It isn't as though everyone doesn't already know, anyway. There was a betting pool over us."

"Was there really? I assume I'm blaming Varric. I'm instinctively blaming Varric," Hawke said.

"That's fair," Wren said.

"He didn't also win, did he?" Hawke asked. "I hate when that happens, even if he doesn't cheat."

Hawke watched Wren fold her shirts and shove them into a leather satchel. "He didn't win," Wren said, grinning up at Hawke. "He wasn't even close."

"Good," Hawke said. She watched Wren tidy the bag.

After a moment, Hawke leaned closer. "What's happened so far?" Hawke asked. "I'm dying to know."

"Hawke."

The Champion turned to Fenris. He looked over his book at her, then shook his head. "Leave it," he said.

Hawke nodded, then looked back to Wren. "I apologise," she said.

"It's fine," Wren said. She folded two more pairs of pants and shoved them into the bag. "I would ask too, if I were you."

Hawke watched Wren fold a pair of leather pants that looked suspiciously like a pair Hawke had seen Cassandra wearing last time.

The question spilled out before Hawke could stop it. "Have you kissed him yet?" Hawke asked.

Fenris looked back up over his book to scold. He frowned at Hawke, then looked over at Wren.

She drew her lower lip up between her teeth for a moment before a smile pulled it free. "Yes," she said.

"Ohh," Hawke said, a wide smile crossing her face. "Someone's a happy girl."

Wren was spurred into motion again, shoving the pants into her bag. " _Yes_ ," Wren said. "Very." She grabbed socks and rolled them into tight balls.

"Good," Hawke said.

Hawke looked over at Fenris, meeting his eyes a moment before turning back to look at Wren.

"You're going on this trip together," Hawke said. "Lots of time for kissing, then."

"Well, maybe," Wren said. "I suppose it depends on how much I get to see him outside of battle."

Hawke nodded. She paused a moment. "This will be your first time travelling with him, right? First time for him to be out with you and the others?" Hawke asked.

"Yes," Wren said. "We all went to Halamshiral together, but I was- we didn't see much of each other then, and there wasn't any fighting. We had an advance team clearing the roads."

"Take my advice, then," Hawke said. "Sleep with him."

"Hawke," Fenris chided.

"No, not like- I don't mean that," Hawke said. "Not that you shouldn't, if that's a thing you want," she said, turning to look at Wren again. "But I mean actually sleep. Share your tent."

Wren set down her pile of undershirts. "He has his own," she said.

"That's bad. Even if _you_ don't sleep with him, don't let him shut himself away," Hawke said. "He needs to be one of the group. You may be the Inquisitor, but you're also Wren, who stabs people with her friends. That's why they can rely on you - you're real. If he's going to fight with you, he needs to be the Commander, but also Cullen, who, I don't know, is terrible at cooking and always takes third watch."

There was a knock at the door, and then a voice came up the stairs. "Inquisitor, dinner is prepared. Shall we bring it up?"

"Yes, please," Wren said. She shoved her smalls into her bag and folded over the top. Two of the runners walked up carrying large covered trays, which they set on two of the end tables. "Anything else, Inquisitor?" one of the runners asked.

"No, thank you," Wren said.

They bowed slightly and left, latching the door behind them.

Hawke walked over and lifted the lids on the trays. "I wish we'd had this kind of service back in Kirkwall," Hawke said.

"Have as much as you like," Wren said. "They always make too much."

"We haven't had anything half so nice as this in months," Hawke said with a lusty sigh. She reached over and started picking food off the trays, popping bits in her mouth and humming her approval.

Wren smiled, then went back to packing.

"About Cullen," Hawke said. She grabbed a small pie and took a generous bite out of it.

Wren shoved a book into the bag. "Hmm?"

Hawke wiped her mouth. "I remember seeing you two at Adamant."

Wren set her hands on the bed and cast her mind back. She remembered seeing him break away from the pack of soldiers, and the relief that had lanced through her. _He was safe._ She remembered lurching toward him, the pain in her leg making her awkward, making her stumble.

He'd held her up when she'd nearly fallen, too much in a rush to be careful. Maker, how she'd wanted to pull him close, to reassure herself with every piece of her battered body that they'd made it through. She'd told herself no, no, they were friends, but she couldn't-

Then _he_ had done it, had pulled her in, wrapped his arms around her and held her. She'd squeezed her eyes closed tight, catching him around the waist, holding on to him with every ounce of strength she had left. The relief had been so strong that it nearly buckled her knees. She'd been so afraid she wouldn't see him again. All she had wanted to do was hold him until that damned fortress crumbled around them.

"Exactly," Hawke said, as if Wren had spoken. Wren looked up, startled out of the memory. Her eyes focused on Hawke again.

"I would bet you a solid gold statue of a nug that Varric started the pool that day," Hawke said.

"I have one," Wren said, distracted.

"You- wait. You do? You actually have a solid gold statue of a nug?" Hawke asked.

"Uh huh. I bought it to make a shopkeeper angry," Wren said.

"I have to see this," Hawke said.

"It's in Leliana's rookery," Wren said. "At the top of the rotunda. You can't miss it. It's rather large."

"I know what I'm doing tomorrow," Hawke said. "I wonder if Varric could get me a tiny hat to put on it."

Fenris shook his head, then set his book down and walked over to the supper trays.

"I told Varric back then that I thought he should set the two of you up," Hawke said, watching Fenris idly. "He just laughed at me and said you'd get there on your own. I'm glad he was right."

Wren frowned slightly. "I thought you and Cullen didn't- I didn't think you'd have much of an opinion," she said.

"He caused me a lot of problems, there's no denying, but in the end he stood up for us. Me, my friends, my family, the mages, the people of Kirkwall - all of us," Hawke said. "I'd have happily tossed him in the canal before that, sure, but turning on Meredith and staying to protect Kirkwall did a lot to change my mind about him." Hawke reached over and snatched a treat off Fenris' plate. "Varric's been talking him up a lot in letters since then, too. On Varric's say, he's practically one of the family," Hawke noted.

Hawke popped the food in her mouth and sighed contentedly. She ate it quickly, then swallowed and added, "Besides, I like you, Little Bird. Varric likes you. You're one of us now." 

Wren smiled. "Thanks, Hawke," she said.

Hawke grinned. "Even if you did have that highly questionable crush on Choir Boy."

Wren threw her balled up socks at Hawke's head.

Fenris chuckled.

* * *

 

It was cold in the mountains, but somehow it was warmer in Skyhold. Warmer, but not warm enough in Fenris' opinion. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders as he stepped out into the garden.

It was late. Hawke was asleep in their bed, the victim of a full belly and two glasses of wine with Varric after supper. Skyhold was sleeping along with her, despite the buzz of activity that had followed Hawke's appearance.

Fenris tucked himself into a corner and waited.

Another cloaked figure entered the garden, nestled deep in fabric. Fenris watched the other person turn to look around, then retreat back toward the shelter of the walls.

"Altus," Fenris said.

The other man turned, pushing the hood away from his face.

"Ah, there you are," he said. "Fenris, then?"

Fenris nodded. "And you would be Dorian," Fenris said.

"I would," Dorian said.

Fenris didn't recognise the man, but he looked familiar all the same. The way the altus held himself, the way he gestured, his accent - all spoke of Tevinter and of his privileged upbringing there. It set Fenris' teeth on edge. Magisters.

"I apologise for not coming sooner," Dorian said. "I'm afraid I got a bit tied up in last-minute preparations."

"I haven't been waiting long," Fenris said.

He looked away from the altus and out into the darkened gardens.

"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me," Dorian said. "I realise you just got in, and might rather be resting."

"There's time for that later," Fenris said. "Tell me, altus. How do you find life here?"

"Here as in Skyhold? It isn't luxurious, but it's certainly more than I expected," Dorian said. "Far better than camping."

"Here as in the South," Fenris said.

Dorian's voice sounded heavier when he answered. "Having people recoil when I walk by them is certainly tiresome," he said. "And I could do with less being spat upon, but I can hardly complain, can I?"

Fenris' expression did not change. "I imagine you manage to find it in yourself to complain all the same."

Dorian laughed. "I cannot deny that," he said.

The two of them fell silent, both assessing what they might say.

"Your Inquisitor," Fenris said. "I met her today."

Dorian's gaze turned sharp. "Did you?" Dorian asked.

"No need to raise your hackles, altus," Fenris said. "She was in my company for some time, and managed to retain both life and limb."

"You'll forgive my tension. Varric tells quite the stories about you," Dorian said.

"And of you as well. It is Varric's nature to turn us into more dramatic characters than we truly are."

"Does he? What does he say?"

"About you? Can you not guess?"

"He mentions my good looks and charm, I hope."

"I imagine when he tells stories about you to others, he mentions such things," Fenris said. "To me, he said that you were a scholar. He strongly encouraged that I not have my 'usual Vint reaction' upon meeting you."

"A scholar," Dorian said. "I like that."

"He went on at some length about the amount of time you spend with your books," Fenris said. "Likely because he wanted to convince me we had something in common aside from our shared place of origin."

"The library here could use some work," Dorian said, "but do feel free to indulge. Just don't let Sera talk you into giving her any of the books. She gets jam on the pages."

"Sera. The elf girl?"

"The archer. Lives in the tavern, cuts her own hair, throws baked goods at the soldiers."

"I have not met her."

"You won't before we leave, but if you stay beyond our return you certainly will. I should warn you that she has an odd sort of pet hate for elves, though. If- when she's rude, try not to take it personally."

"I see."

Fenris slid over to get a better line of sight on the other man.

"A jam-wielding elf that hates elves. You also travel with a Qunari," Fenris said.

"Tal-Vashoth, now," Dorian said. "Though do try not to mention that to him, he is not comfortable with the change."

"Odd that you care," Fenris said.

"Just some friendly advice. He hasn't murdered me yet," Dorian said. "I'd be foolish to think he never would. He says he won't, but it's hard to fully trust the word of a spy."

"Ben-Hassrath," Fenris said.

"Yes."

"And he is also going with you tomorrow?"

"He is. The Inquisitor, the Commander, myself, Sera, and Bull. I believe the Inquisitor's friend Wolfson is leading the support team," Dorian said.

"And this is a life you enjoy."

"It is. Is that surprising to you as well? It certainly surprises me," Dorian said.

"I wouldn't expect an altus to be content anywhere he wasn't being treated like a tiny god," Fenris said.

"That was hardly my experience in Tevinter," Dorian said bitterly. "I was quite the disappointment. All the same, I plan to return once this is over. I want to change things back home."

"Change them?" Fenris barked out a laugh. "For who? You? Don't expect me to applaud you."

"For me, yes, but also for everyone else," Dorian said. "Tevinter is not beyond hope. We can be better than we are."

"Better. I doubt that," Fenris said. "Tevinter is built on the blood and bones of slaves that you do not even see."

"True enough," Dorian said. "I may not be the best man to do this, but I won't stand by and pretend that I can't do something, however inadequate."

"I hope you're planning on listening to those who suffer most in the Imperium," Fenris said. "Have you spoken to the Vint at the tavern?"

"Krem. A bit," Dorian said. "As you might expect, he is not exactly eager to speak with me at any length. I do hope I can draw him out eventually."

"What is your goal, altus? What do you want to change?" Fenris looked directly at Dorian, pinning him in place.

"I want to dismantle the system," Dorian said. "The obsession with our 'perfect' past. It costs us, costs everyone. We need to work to be part of the world, not at odds with it."

"You realise part of what sets you apart is that you buy people from the rest of Thedas," Fenris said.

"Yes," Dorian said. "I hadn't thought about it much before. I know what that says about me, believe me, I do. I'm trying to be a better man than that now. I do not know enough about the slave trade to know what to do to change it, but I hope to find out."

Fenris nodded.

"If that's true, then I wish you luck," Fenris said.

"I'm benefitting from that right now, I imagine, in that we've met and you haven't shown me my own heart," Dorian said.

"If I murdered every Vint or mage I met, I would do little else," Fenris said. "I save my efforts for those that deserve it. Try not to deserve it."

"You aren't the only man to tell me so. I shall do my utmost not to disappoint."


	32. Chapter 32

[This is not actually an update. I know, I _know_ , but I wanted to let you know that if you're still interested in this story and these characters that the whole thing has been / is being rewritten and is currently being posted [over here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533878).  It's the same basic story, but edited (I know some of you were asking for that) and reworked to more properly incorporate both the original character content and the canon pieces.  Calling on Song (the new one) updates every Thursday, and five chapters have gone up already at the time of this update.  If you have any questions, please feel free to leave a comment or message me via [tumblr.](butwhatisit.tumblr.com)  And yes, the plan and goal is that this time, there'll be an ending.  I also want to thank you for all your support and kindness over the years here!  Honestly, wanting to do better for all of you is why the story was reworked and why I've gone back to it time and again.  I hope the new work lives up to your expectations and then some.  I really hope you like the edit.  Thank you for reading.  <3.]

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Calling On Song](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11533878) by [Parsnip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parsnip/pseuds/Parsnip)




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